Behind the Mask
by CathryForever
Summary: This is the story of the emotional fallout for Catherine de Medici, of the events of Season 1, where she almost lost everything. With King Henry angry and unfeeling towards her, having discovered the affair she had had with Richard, and her heart still longing for him, how will she manage her emotions behind the mask she wears? Will Henry learn of her feelings? Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Catherine sank into the chair at her vanity, and drew a long, shuddering breath. She did not know what was the matter with her. There had been so many tiring matters of state to attend to, and she had not been sleeping well of late, but there seemed more to it than just tiredness. Perhaps it was an accumulation of recent events? She really felt quite overwhelmed.

There had been so much that she had had to bear lately. She had barely readjusted to life outside of the tower, where she had existed precariously during her recent imprisonment. She had done her best to put it behind her, of course. Walls and facades were her expertise after all, and she was well practiced at it, no matter the source or the emotion she had to bury to achieve it.

And yet today she felt, uncomfortably... unsteady, emotionally. Vulnerable, as if her emotions sat on a knife edge. It was an unpleasantly insecure feeling, that she might not have her usual ability to control her emotions at any given moment.

She reached for her hand mirror, something solid and grounding, and occupied herself with the soothingly habitual activity of arranging the loose tendrils of soft curls at her temples and neckline. Laying down the mirror, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly as she inhaled deeply again, this time with fresh determination, willing strength and courage into her lungs to permeate her being, before she stood and crossed the room to her desk. She had letters of varying importance to sign and seal, two of which had to be given to one of her guards without delay, before leaving her chambers to deliver one to her husband in person. A hot bath with soothing fragranced oils would have been much preferable, but as duty was calling... She sank heavily into the chair, and lifted the quill from its place.

/-/-/-/-/-/

At the swish of her skirts as she entered the map room, Henry's back stiffened. Her very presence caused him so much internal conflict – he both loved and hated this impossible woman - but for the time being, his overwhelming reaction to his wife was anger and spite, to cover for the hurt and humiliation that lay beneath, which he had no intention of revealing.

"Catherine." His tone was tired and bitter. "Am I to get no respite from you today?"

"Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen." The Queen maintained her unaffected exterior, squashing down the sharp discomfort of being humiliated by her husband addressing her in such a manner before others. She stopped in front of the King and held out the letter. "This was the document you requested to see. It could not wait until morning, otherwise I would not have disturbed you."

He took it from her hand without making eye contact, and tossed it onto the desk. Glancing briefly at it, he retorted, "Looking for a way to secure your gold? Now that your _loyal_ Medici family have disowned you?" The King's advisors surrounding the desk shifted uncomfortably, averting their eyes from the royal couple. They knew, as did all of French court, that this was a painful subject for them both – the reason for the Queen's rejection by her family being her recently exposed affair with the King's closest friend, long ago, which had brought forth a bastard child. Of course, the man in question had been executed almost immediately, and the Queen's execution had been planned to take place shortly thereafter – had it not been for the return of the Dauphin to court, and his marriage to the Queen of Scots, thus changing the fate of the Queen of France. The tension in the room was palpable.

Catherine lifted her chin slightly, an action she sometimes used to remind the rest of her being to tighten up emotionally, be less penetrable to hurts, insults, threats. Nobody need know just how grieved she was to lose the support and presence of her family, never mind the shame of their sudden cold withdrawal. Biting back rising emotion, Catherine answered her husband coolly, "You know it is prudent to make secure the finances that could one day protect your own sons as they rule France in your absence."

Henry gave a bitter laugh, "Yes, in my absence. I expect you are counting the days, wife, are you not? Your Medici money, your own flesh and blood on the throne… What more could you ever want?"

Catherine stiffened her jaw, and held herself as tall and as dignified as she was able, struggling to maintain her appearance of calm. Why must he press her so in front of others, and why on earth must she find it so hard to be strong today? How could he ever know what she might want? Money and power – yes, she didn't mind admitting that it gave her a thrill, and it felt exhilarating to hold the reins of such authority, and to feel secure was also something that she greatly desired, but what more?! What more could she ever want? SO much more. She felt a rise of anger and hurt that he thought she was that shallow. She wanted happiness – that elusive state that she had all but lost hope of ever truly obtaining. She wanted love. She wanted him, the way he used to be, the way she would never be able to have again. She wanted peace, and no walls between them. Grandchildren to dote on, time away from the castle to just BE. She wanted to find joy in life. She wanted so much more than Henry would ever know she could be longing for.

She stepped back from him and folded her hands carefully. "This is not a discussion for tonight, Henry. It is late and I'm going to retire to my chambers." She turned on her heel and walked towards the doors as the guard opened them for her.

"An excellent idea, Catherine!" Henry called after her as she swept through the doors. "Guard, summon the lady Kenna to my chambers. I shall retire shortly and I think I should like my bed warmed, ready for when I arrive."

Catherine inhaled sharply, but kept walking, the guard's obedient, "Yes, your Majesty" fading behind her as she put distance between herself and her churlish husband. She knew he had called out for Kenna as she left to spite her, knowing she would hear, because he knew how she would hate hearing that he was planning to bed Diane's latest replacement – not that he'd ever truly replace Diane. Catherine, yes, but never Diane. He knew she would hate that the nobles and guards would hear it in her presence too. Anger burned at her throat, her chest felt tight, and her carefully folded hands were now twisted fingers pressed painfully white together against her corset as she forged ahead to her chambers.

Once behind her closed doors, she leaned her tired forehead against the cool smooth stone of the mantel at her fireplace. The fire would need tending soon, its flames flickering low and embers glowing red, and she knew that she could not yet allow herself the relief of taking off her mask. She needed to – oh how she needed to, it seemed exceptionally heavy to wear today – but she was not yet finished with contact with other people for the day. She sighed a deep, tired sigh, and called her ladies in to ready her for bed.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews! This is my first ever published story and I'm still finding my way rather nervously, so I appreciate the support! Yes, I am planning this to be a pro-Cathry story (I love them so much!), but first of all, I really wanted to explore the angst between them. Megan Follows does emotion SO incredibly well, and I felt there was a lot missing in the show after she had lost her Medici family's support, discovered the existence of Clarissa and what her choices had caused, seen Richard lose his life for her, and almost lost her own life at the hands of the man she loves - all the while with the threat of Bash's legitimisation and Francis having left French court. Expert mask-wearer or not, that had to be painful and hard to recover from, so I wanted to explore the emotional aspect for her. I have a soft spot for Megan and emotions. :) I'm so sorry for the pain in this bittersweet chapter, but I promise it will be okay in the end!

Chapter Two

"Where are we going, Henry?" she asked again, with an excited giggle.

His response rumbled quietly, close to her ear, his hands holding her shoulders firmly as she stumbled along, "Patience, Catherine. We're almost there." The smile she let spread across her face matched the one she heard in his tone as they continued on their path. How happy she was to have such a husband! He was kind, handsome, attentive, and fun. Her best friend, and her lover. She felt overwhelmed with joy, thinking of her great fortune in such a good match.

Henry's hands suddenly caught her shoulders at a standstill, leaving her feet to stumble slightly as they caught up. She lifted her hands to push away the silk sash that was covering her eyes, but his fingers clasped gently over hers before she could reach it.

"Not yet." He whispered.

"What is this, Henry? I can't help wanting to see where you've brought me!"

Letting her hands drop, his fingers moved to stroke her cheek, and then to run gently through the loose curls of her hair. She had worn her hair down especially for him this evening, because she knew how much he loved it when she did.

She stilled, her senses sharp with her sight temporarily covered, enjoying his loving touch. She could smell leaves and grass, the way they smelled at the end of a long summers day, after soaking up the rays of the hot sunshine for so long. Such a heavenly smell. And was that the quiet liquid ripple of water? In the distance, the slight creak of wood, gentle and soothing. The sweet chirp of evening insects. And Henry's breathing, soft against her hair. Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

"Catherine… Caterina?" began Henry, "I… I wish I could find the words to tell you what you mean to me. I can still hardly believe that you're mine! It doesn't seem to matter how much time passes." His arms squeezed hers lovingly. "I just wanted to say it again. I love you so very much, my little Caterina. You are my little one, but also my bride, my princess. And you are my strong, brave, intelligent wife, who I admire and adore. How can you be so many things wrapped up in one beautiful package, Catherine?!"

She gave a shy chuckle, blushing at his words. He laughed nervously, pulling her back closer into his chest, and continued. "I think if I could, I would want to shout from the mountain tops how much I love you! But the mountains are so far away. I… I thought… I hope you don't think this strange… I thought about how you make me feel. And I felt like… like nothing around me exists sometimes, when I'm with you. As though we're just us, blissfully afloat in some beautiful vessel, with nothing around us to cause friction or strife. I felt like I would want to light up the night sky with my love for you, Catherine! If only I could!"

He dipped his head to kiss the top of her head, and laid his cheek against the spot lovingly. Catherine reached up behind her to cup the rough stubble of his cheek. "Oh Henry…" she breathed, unable to put words to her feelings beyond her acknowledgement.

Henry spoke softly again, "So, since it's such a special occasion, and I had time to plan…" She felt the sash loosen over her face, and blinked as the world came back into focus. Henry let the blindfold drop and moved to stand in front of her, eager hands taking hold of hers as he caught her gaze and looked into her eyes. "Happy Birthday, Caterina!"

She stood transfixed at the sight before her. They were standing a little way back from the lake, just after sunset. The sky was dark, with pale streaks of mauve and pink still lingering at the horizon. Lanterns were strung everywhere, in the trees, along the lake edge, twinkling merrily and lighting everything in a glorious golden warmth. The water sparkled with the reflection of so many flickering flames. As Henry led her closer, she could see beyond the lights a beautiful little boat waiting for them, bobbing gently at the small landing stage. Catherine had never seen anything like it before. It was so delicate and intimate, structured more like a four-poster bed than a boat, with soft drapes made of sheer fabric, hanging gently down between each of the four posts, the side against the landing stage itself being partly lifted so as to allow them access. Catherine could see that the edges of the drapes sparkled with the light of the lanterns, and she knew that Henry had spared no expense in commissioning them to be edged with tiny diamonds. Beyond the drapes, the entire body of the boat was filled with softness – pillows, thick and comforting, and lavish coverlets and blankets. A deep ledge at the top end of the boat contained what looked like a picnic of the finest of Catherine's favourite foods and treats, a bottle of wine and two goblets. Fragrant roses were woven around the bases of the four posts, and more of them filled any gaps around the picnic items in the ledge.

She stood speechless, tears filling her blissful gaze, as Henry led her onto the landing stage.

"Do you like it?" he asked, anxiously.

Catherine shook her head slowly, almost in disbelief, as she took in the breathtaking sight, her face bathed in delight. Eyes shining and breath catching, she finally found the words to answer him, "I love it. I love YOU. It's wonderful!"

Henry smiled and held out his hand to help her into the boat. She took it and stepped in to their cloud of paradise, and he quickly followed. Settling themselves in each other's arms in the soft layers, they lay looking up through the open top of the boat, and through the thin veiled drapes around them. Stars filled the sky and the air smelled sweet. Henry kissed her temple, her cheek, and then the tip of her nose, as he enfolded her in his arms.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

"Very." replied Catherine.

"Good." He smiled into her hair. "So… We are blissfully afloat in a beautiful vessel, just the two of us… Now if only I could light up the night sky with my love for you…" Henry chuckled softly behind her ear, squeezing her body against him momentarily and then releasing her to pull her head onto his chest, and settling back comfortably.

A moment later, the sky exploded with colour and light, fireworks popping and fizzing over the lake and beyond, towards the castle, in a spectacular display. Catherine gasped in surprise, watching Henry's gift to her unfold in the heavens above, open-mouthed, tears once again filling her eyes with happiness.

After some moments of silence, sprays of beautiful light continuing to fill the skies, Henry whispered to her, "You see, this is how you make me feel inside. I wanted to show you, somehow. I hope… I hope you like it…" he faltered.

"Like it? Oh Henry, I've never seen such a beautiful sight in my life!" whispered Catherine, a little sob catching the end of her sentence, as she turned her face up to Henry's.

His eyes, flickered with the dancing light of the lanterns, and yet as dark and liquid as the lake, melted into hers as his fingers traced the contours of her face gently. She barely heard his response, so soft and low was his whisper as he looked deep into her, "My feelings exactly…"

He lowered his face towards hers, and caught her lips with his in a soft kiss, lingering to savour the moment, before pulling back slightly, and catching a tear on her cheek with his thumb.

The fireworks popped faster and more rhythmically now, as she basked in her joy and the love of her Henry with his arms around her, holding her close. Pop-pop-pop-pop, tap-tap-tap-tap… Catherine felt the shifting sensation of her surroundings changing, as the only constant became the popping sound of the fireworks. Fireworks without the light. Surrounded by softness, but not warmth.

Coming to full awareness of her surroundings, she pulled back the covers, and stepped lightly out of bed. She crossed her bedchamber quickly to close the window, shutting out the hail that had started raining down against the side of the castle from nowhere. She turned and retreated quickly, climbing back into bed and laying back against the pillows, drawing the coverlet tightly up to her chin.

As she lay there staring at the ceiling, Catherine remembered lying in the same position, staring at the sky filled with lights for her. She reached a hand up from under the coverlet and touched her cheek lightly, remembering Henry's touch on that same spot. It had all been for her – his heart had been for her, so completely. And now it was gone. As bleakly empty and dark as the night around her. Her throat ached, and tears burned her eyes. She swallowed hard and closed them quickly, trying to will her pain away, but the memories lingered. The way he had looked into her, as though he was part of her inmost being, so deeply had he gazed. As though she was the only thing that existed, or that mattered to him. She used to matter. How she missed mattering to someone, to Henry. Her heart ached for him still, and her arms ached to be filled with his embrace – everything in her suddenly ached to be held by the man she loved. It didn't matter what the years had done to their marriage, or the hurt he had caused her. Even the fact that he showed no feelings of love towards her any more, and had planned to have her killed. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't help loving him and wanting him still.

The ache overwhelming her, she listened for a moment to her own dry sobs echoing off the stone walls of her chambers, before turning her face into her pillow, clinging to it for dear life and letting her tears flow, her sobbing muffled so that nobody might hear her hurting in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Nimble fingers deftly twisted and coiled silken hair the colour of the sunrise that shone in long bars across the Queen's chambers. Catherine sat at her vanity, freshly dressed for the day in a silver gown with gold and black accents, skirts rustling softly as she adjusted her legs to sit more comfortably. She bent her neck slightly, tucking her chin a little more towards her chest, giving Charlotte a better angle to arrange her hair for the day ahead. She wished she had not risen so early in the day, with so many hours ahead to get through, knowing how tired she would be by the evening. But it could not be helped. Though the hailstorm had passed, and left the sky fresh and clean with the promise of a new day, her night had been restless since the dream. She felt unrested, and unsettled, and after tossing and turning for a few hours, and managing to doze a little, she gave up and began to ready herself for the day.

She felt the smooth tug of a hair pin sliding through an intricate knot of swirled hair on the back of her head, before Charlotte stepped back and dropped her hands to her sides.

"Will that be all, your Majesty?"

The Queen gave a slight nod. "Thank you, Charlotte." She reached for her jewelry box as her lady-in-waiting curtsied and quietly left the room. Pausing to select her accessories for her outfit, her fingers absently traced over colourful gems and twisted gold, loops of silver and smooth pearls, while her thoughts wandered. Uneasiness had settled in her stomach long before it was light that morning, and she didn't like it. Her own reaction to her dream had surprised her. She hadn't cried so in years, and instead of the usual feeling of relief at the release of emotional tension, she was left with the same heaviness of heart and unsteadiness that she had gone to bed with the night before. Catherine did not like to feel out of control, especially regarding her emotions. A queen must be able to rule over herself if she is to rule over a country, she reminded herself.

She sighed, remembering how vivid her dream had been – as though she had been there, living it all over again with Henry. She almost wished that the hail hadn't broken through her sleep and disturbed her. What a night they'd had all those years ago, on her 18th birthday. She felt so detached from it now, with all that had passed in the time since, that it almost seemed like she was remembering different people from a different lifetime. And yet at the same time it seemed like only yesterday, something she could almost reach out and touch. She closed her eyes, hand stilling on a piece of jewelry, as she reminisced once more.

After the fireworks, Henry had produced a wrapped box, which Catherine had opened to reveal an elegant necklace. She instinctively traced her fingers lightly over her collar bone as she remembered, sweeping down over the exposed skin of her chest below, and up over her other collar bone.

Henry had cradled her back and shoulders into his chest, reaching around her body as she held the beautiful gift, so that he could touch it and point to each of the features he had commissioned especially for her. The coils and swirls of silver in such intricate detailed designs, which he said was to depict the enchanting enigma that was his Catherine. The swirls were studded with glittering diamonds, several of them larger and more centrally positioned, and little strings of tiny ones encrusting the sweeping edges of the coiled design. He said that she sparkled. That diamonds catching the light reminded him of her smile, her eyes, her hair when the sun shone on it and the wind blew it loose. He said that she was more beautiful than anything he could have had made for her to wear. He had swept her hair from the nape of her neck, kissing it softly, before gently lifting the necklace into place and fastening it for her. She had never felt so precious, so wanted.

After the years had passed and Diane had become the object of her husband's affections, she had put the necklace away, at the bottom of her jewelry box. It pained her to see it and be reminded of what she had lost, so although it was too precious to part with, she kept it out of sight.

Rousing suddenly from her daydream, Catherine searched the box for the necklace. Bittersweet though it was, she thought she would like to see it again, and perhaps to wear it that day. It would match perfectly with her gown, and she had a crown that would partner it well too. Her brow furrowed as she searched deeper, the unique design absent amongst her other necklaces. After carefully looking over each one again, she sat back, biting her lip in confusion over the matter. Had she passed the jewelry to somebody else? It had been many years… perhaps she had, but she couldn't imagine she would ever part with that particular piece. After a pause, she shook herself slightly, selected a necklace of pearls and diamonds, and a simple crown, and readied herself to leave her chambers.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sweeping majestically down the hallway, Catherine made her usual inner preparations for the morning ahead. Servants and nobles alike stopped to bow or curtsey as she passed, but she barely noticed them as she made a mental list for the day. Preparations must be made for an upcoming banquet, she would need to join Henry for a royal audience to be held this morning, she wanted to review the children's activities and lessons with the governesses at some point, and most importantly, she must repress this ridiculous urge to hide somewhere - anywhere – and cry. Nobody, especially Henry, must see any sign of weakness in her, and she most definitely must conquer this instability and steel herself to present a regal, confident, and dignified front. She knew he would be at the gathering in the throne room this morning, perhaps even there already as there would be a table of light refreshments, and knowing Henry, he would likely make that his breakfast.

Turning swiftly on her heel into the entrance to the throne room, Catherine's demeanour altered as her internal mask slipped into place. Standing there, the picture of calm regal elegance and dignity, she surveyed the room briefly. As predicted, Henry and one of his advisors were present, discussing some matter of state, she presumed. Various pastries and fruits were piled generously on platters on the table to one side, and to her relief, there was her beloved Francis, talking with Mary and her ladies. How she had missed him while he and Mary had been on their honeymoon! They had been back barely a week, and she had yet to talk to him properly about his time away with his new wife.

Smiling, she watched them from across the room, as she pretended to consider selecting something to eat. Mary's ladies turned towards each other slightly, leaving Mary and Francis talking together. The girls giggled excitedly in hushed voices, and Catherine rolled her eyes at their childishness. Their attention was focused on Kenna, and that irked the Queen even more because of how she disliked her so. Having the audacity to stroll into the castle, fresh from Scotland - practically straight from the carriage, and set herself up in her husband's bed! It made her skin prickle, and there was nothing she could do about it. Biting back her rising emotions and mentally giving herself a little shake, she settled her attention on Mary and Francis. How in love they looked - Mary's smile as Francis said something in humour, and the way he looked back at her with such fondness. Catherine felt such joy in seeing her Francis so happy.

As she made her way over to kiss her son's cheek and bid him good morning, she nodded cordially, but disinterestedly, at Mary and her ladies. She would never have given the time of day to turning her eyes towards Kenna otherwise, but when she did, she stopped dead in her tracks as though she had been slapped. Her stomach felt tight and her throat burned. She fought with herself to breathe normally and slowly, and to keep her eyes and face neutral, but Francis, of course, had noticed her subtle efforts.

"Mother, is there something the matter?" His voice was full of concern.

Catherine didn't answer him. Chin held stiff and high, she addressed Kenna, her voice sounding colder and harsher than she intended, "Where did you get that necklace?"

Kenna's hand flew to her throat, protectively touching the coiled silver and glittering diamonds of the heartfelt token of love that Henry had once bestowed upon Catherine as a birthday gift, the same gift that Catherine had searched for that very morning in her chambers, only to find it missing. The girl looked anxious. Eyes averted, and fingers tapping the necklace nervously, she faltered, "Henry… King Henry gave it to me, your Grace."

"Mother?" Francis stepped forward and reached out to take the Queen's arm, but she was blind to him, already turning on her heel. Skirts rustling, she crossed the throne room swiftly to her husband, where the advisor, seeing the look on her face, made a hasty exit.

Sensing the ferocity and anger practically buzzing off the woman standing behind him, Henry heaved a gusty sigh and turned reluctantly to face his wife.

" _Henry."_ Catherine spoke as steadily as she could force herself to, although her voice still sounded fierce and strained, even to her own ears.

"Catherine. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Henry's tone distinctly lacked sincerity. He was not in the mood for a showdown with his wife this morning.

Aware of the room becoming somewhat more hushed, as the nobles and royals present noticed the tense air surrounding their King and Queen, Catherine attempted to quieten her own tone, though she felt her control beginning to slip. She was trembling with anger, and if she could ever admit it, anguish. Her heart ached, almost more than she could bear, but she was thankful for the anger that overrode the more difficult emotion, for the time being.

"What is the meaning of the _gift_ you gave to Kenna?! That necklace belongs to ME!"

"It's not like you have even looked at it in over a decade, Catherine. I didn't see the problem, since you weren't using it yourself. Someone ought to make use of the expense I paid for it to be commissioned."

Henry twisted his hands together behind the small of his back as he stood tall and broad-shouldered before his smouldering wife. It hurt him to talk about the necklace, and he had already questioned his sanity over taking it from Catherine's vanity and giving it to Kenna. Yes, it had been a mistake. But it was done now, and he had felt a rather grim satisfaction in removing it from his wife's ownership, painful though it had been to do so, because she obviously did not care about any of his heartfelt sentiments or the tokens that went along with them. The necklace he had once poured so much love into meant so little to her that she tossed it aside and ignored it, along with everything else about him. Though it stung to do so, he had enjoyed giving it to an exuberantly grateful recipient like his beautiful young mistress. He did not enjoy seeing her wearing it though. Every time he saw it, it reminded him of Catherine and her own delight in receiving it all those years ago, and something about that made it harder to breathe the air around him, and moving his arms and legs seemed a greater effort than before.

" _Who are you to come into MY chambers, and go through MY belongings, and take an item that belongs to ME?!"_ she hissed at him angrily. " _Who gives you the right to decide what I feel about my own belongings, and whether I wish to part with them or not?!"_

Henry surveyed the woman standing before him. Even now, she seemed indifferent. Angry and insulted, but otherwise devoid of the feelings that she claimed to have. Her eyes locked onto his, cold and hard, with a snap of anger in them. Hurt that the only thing that bothered her was an issue of ownership, he lashed back, "Don't pretend it meant something to you, Catherine! Your actions speak differently. It's been years since I've seen you wear it. Kenna wears it with pride and joy. I'm not sure that you even know those feelings, or any feelings at all, except for cold and bitter ones. What do you need of the necklace any longer? I saw plenty of other fine pieces for you to choose from. It was I who had the necklace made, and it is I who have authority to do whatever I damn well please in my own castle!"

Uncaring of the nobles around him, he faced her down, his jaw tight, and his dark eyes flashing as he waited for her unfeeling response.

Catherine lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, standing tall and strong. Colour had risen to her cheeks in her anger, and her hazel eyes gleamed like daggers at him. In spite of himself, Henry was suddenly struck by her beauty. She was so fiery and colourful. Even at times like this, when she drove him to the brink of madness, other women still seemed to pale in comparison. All women were sunshine, with their warmth and light – sometimes gentle, sometimes overpowering. But Catherine at her fieriest made all other women seem like the pale winter noonday sun, while she was a blazing summer sunset.

Cursing himself for allowing his thoughts to wander in this heated moment, he realised that Catherine hadn't responded. Bringing his eyes back to hers, for a split second he thought he read… sadness, even heartache, in those eyes. Then the moment he thought he had recognised a sign of his wife _feeling_ something, it was gone, and to his surprise she turned so briskly that her full skirts whipped against his shins, and bristled out of the room. After gazing at the empty entranceway for a moment, baffled at the complete lack of response from the woman who always had the words to finish an argument in her favour, he looked across the room in an attempt to break the moment. His eyes met with those of his son and heir, who gave him a hard, questioning look, and then abruptly left the throne room. Mary stared wide-eyed after her husband, but let him go, and turned back to her ladies.

Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, and to make for a clean start, he beckoned his advisor to him, and helped himself to another pastry from the table.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, everyone! I meant to update sooner, but I got side-tracked and ended up writing a fun (and slightly naughty!) Cathry one-shot to contrast the angst in this one! :) Here it is at last though. I hope it's not too long, but I didn't want to divide it anywhere.**

Chapter Five

Her breath came sharp and fast as she walked as briskly as she was able, her heels pounding against the unforgiving stone floor, putting distance between herself and the throne room. How _could_ he?! How _dare_ he?! And the cutting, loveless way that he had spoken to her. He couldn't have known about her dream last night, and how broken it had made her feel, or that she'd remembered the necklace and looked for it this morning – it was just poor timing. Catherine struggled to force down the panic that threatened to completely overwhelm her. Why could she not control herself?! Why could she not face him down like she always had?! It was not like her, and that alone was very unnerving.

She had done the only thing she could do to maintain her dignity in the situation. She had left. Frustration ate away at her. She had had the words ready to return Henry's fire, and had wanted to voice them, but suddenly, terrifyingly, she knew that if she opened her mouth to speak, she would lose her composure. She had paused, mask still in place, fighting for control beneath the surface, desperate to suppress evidence of her husband's effect on her. His words, his actions with her necklace had bruised her battered heart all over again. Why must he continue to do this to her?! Standing before him as he eyed her, expecting her response, her throat had constricted and she waited for the sensation to abate, but it did not. She felt the ache in her throat rise, smarting at the back of her nose and burning behind her eyes. She had turned suddenly, afraid that her eyes had already given her away, and knowing that tears would follow, which she refused to let him see. How humiliated she already felt, and how much worse it would have been had the other occupants of the room noticed her pain.

Clenching her fists as she stormed along, her nails dug into the palms of her hands. Her chambers, her safe space that she longed for at this moment, were too far, past too many enquiring pairs of eyes, and she was out of time. Keeping her head down as she passed the guards at the stone archway, she emerged gratefully into the unoccupied gardens. Striding briskly across the sculpted lawns towards the farthest point, the stone wall that overlooked the sea, she relaxed her hold on her breathing at last, allowing herself the freedom of ragged gasps as she fought to catch her breath, no longer caring that relaxing her hold meant tears that blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks.

Reaching the wall, she steadied herself, gripping the rough stone as she anchored her gaze on the rippling sea below. The salty breeze from the open water whipped the loose curls that framed her face and neck, and chilled her wet face. For a moment, she stood tall and strong, holding herself in such a way as to encourage the rest of her being to follow suit. But, the effort being too great in her current state, she just gave up. Physically sagging, her chest caved as much as her corset would allow, and her shoulders slumped. She leaned her tired body against the reassuring solid strength of the wall, let her head drop forwards, and wept. Always aware of the possibility that she might be being observed, she kept her hands down by her sides instead of bringing them up to cradle her face, as she'd felt the urge to, not wanting the view of her from behind to give anything away of her emotional state if she could possibly help it.

Fierce choking sobs shook her shoulders and the sharp irregular gasps that accompanied them felt raw in her aching chest. Hot tears ran freely, leaving their saltiness on her lips and dripping from her chin, and she shook her head in angry frustration at her own display of weakness. Having allowed herself to express her pent-up feelings for a few minutes, she began the process of pulling herself together, wiping her face with her hands, and smoothing her skirts. She willed the storm inside her to calm down, purposely taking deeper, steadying breaths, unaware that her son was crossing the lawn to her at that very moment.

Francis had searched the halls surrounding the throne room, and found his mother's chambers unoccupied. He was concerned – it was unlike her to react so, and he wondered why. What had his father done now? He felt unsettled by the way she had looked as she left the throne room, and he wanted to know if there was anything he could do, knowing she had been through a difficult time in recent months. Almost on the verge of giving up, he leaned his forehead against the window overlooking the gardens, and there he saw Catherine, at the wall that looked down over the sea. He hastened through the castle hallways and out into the sunshine, glad to see that nobody else was about. She must have needed some air and stepped outside to take a moment after her strained conversation with the King.

His mother stood very still at the sea wall, and as he approached her, he noticed how tired her posture was and how surprisingly small she seemed, and made a mental note to ask her how she was sleeping. Crossing the lawn behind her, his steps slowed as he saw her suddenly lift her head and straighten, raising her hands to her face and sweeping her palms over her cheeks, as though… as though… surely Catherine de Medici wasn't… _crying?_ He knew his mother was a woman of feeling, despite the rumours, and his father's ridiculous opinion, for he had seen emotion well in her eyes many times. Pride and joy over her children, anger or frustration, urgency over a matter that made her anxious, and even resignation. But he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen that emotion spill over, and he couldn't remember ever having seen the Queen break down, not in front of him in any case. He was unsure what he would do or say, now that he had realised her situation. Francis loved his mother, and felt suddenly protective and tender towards her in her vulnerability.

Hearing his footsteps as he moved from the soft lawn to the pathway where she stood, Catherine's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't turn around. Francis stopped beside her, unsure whether to actually look at her or not. He folded his hands and looked out at the sea. After a few moments of silence, she spoke up.

"I'm alright, Francis." Her tone was steady, but he could hear the slight throaty thickness to her voice which told him just how broken she had been in the moments before he arrived. He picked up the hand nearest to him as they stood side-by-side, and turned to face her slightly, looking at his fingers, so much larger than hers now as he held them. How had that happened? He remembered looking at her hands as they held his little ones in comfort, many times. His hands used to fit inside hers, almost. He wished he could provide comfort to his mother now, as she had so many times to him over the years. It made him ache to see her in pain.

"What is it?" His voice was soft and laced with concern, "This…" he gestured awkwardly towards her with his free hand, "…this never happens, Mother."

Catherine looked out to sea with a sad little smile. "It never happens where the eyes of others can see," she corrected. "Even yours." she added, more gently, as she turned to face her son. She lay a reassuring hand on his chest and looked at the pattern on his doublet, admiring the strong, handsome man he was growing into. It warmed her heart that he cared for her, and had come to find her. She hadn't expected him to, but she was comforted that he had. So unlike his father. He would be a true husband to Mary.

Seeing her damp, tear-stained face, and red, swollen eyes, with such sadness in her usually powerful countenance, the Dauphin felt several conflicting emotions at once.

"Mother… I – I don't like to see you hurt. You know my fondness for you."

Catherine gave her son a loving smile, and raised her hand to touch the fair hair that framed his face. "My darling boy. You are such a comfort to me."

"Is it something I can help with? Did Father… I saw how upset you were with him."

"Your loyal heart is all the help I could need at this moment." She patted his cheek affectionately. "I shall be fine, truly. There has been… a lot for me to process lately. Your Father…" she looked down suddenly, focusing on her fingers as she picked lightly at one of her cuticles. "… You know we have our troubles. Nothing more than the usual trials I must endure." She huffed scornfully, and then looked up at her son, giving him a smile that was as bright as she could manage, to ease his discomfort at her situation. "Sometimes when my cup is especially full, just a little extra can cause it to overflow, that's all." She lifted her chin and held herself with dignity once more, filling her lungs with enabling air to add to the appearance of strength, and giving his hands a reassuring squeeze with her own. "All is well, my dear. Now, it must be time for you to return to Mary. I shall go to my chambers to freshen up before the audience is held."

Francis hesitated, observing his mother with a wary eye, unconvinced by her reassuring explanation. "If you ever need a friendly ear…" he offered.

In a voice overflowing with love and affection for her beloved firstborn son, she responded simply, "Thank you."

He bent, and kissed her cheek, and she gave his arm a loving squeeze, before turning and crossing the lawns towards the other archway that would bring her into the castle nearest to her chambers. Francis watched her go, his brow furrowed, unsure of what he should do next.

/-/-/-/-/

Henry shrugged off his leather waistcoat and laid it along with his sword at the foot of his bed. He lay back heavily, stretching his tired muscles. The day had been long, and the sparring practice with Bash had been just what he needed to unwind. He smiled at the thought of his son, so like him in humour and choice of pursuits. They had much in common and enjoyed each other's company.

A knock sounded at the door and, calling for the visitor to enter, the King raised his head from his pillow to look down the room towards the door.

"Francis." He sat up, curious as to the reason that the Dauphin had sought him out this evening. "You've just missed Bash, if that's who you're looking for."

"No, actually I came to talk to you, Father." Francis let his gaze wander around his father's chambers, as it wasn't often that he visited him here.

"Oh?" Henry leaned forward and grasped the heel of his boot, pausing to unbuckle it before pulling it off and reaching to remove the other boot in the same manner. He glanced up at Francis. He seemed fidgety, which gave the King a slight rise of irritation as he waited to hear what his son had to say.

"It's about Mother."

The King gave a short laugh and shook his head slightly, as he resumed his task. "What has she sent you for this time?!"

"She hasn't. She doesn't even know I have come to see you. Father, I – in the throne room this morning…"

Henry stood up impatiently, boots in hand, interrupting his son, "Yes, yes. I know. It really isn't a matter for the two of us to discuss."

"But the way she left… She - Did you – Do you know what the matter was?" began Francis again.

The King sighed, tossing his boots carelessly to the floor at the foot of his bed. "Yes and no, Francis." He sat again, heavily. "She was angry about some trifling detail, and I was the target for her outburst. She may say that I don't understand her, but I can tell you that it runs both ways."

The Dauphin shifted his weight from foot to foot, wondering how to interpret his father's answer to his question, and whether he should wait for more, or press him further. When the King said nothing else, he tried again.

"She seemed upset by whatever the trifling detail was, don't you think?"

"Upset?! Perhaps. I'm not sure that's the word for it though. Your mother's jealousy has always been a difficulty in our marriage, Francis, that's the problem here. Something that she cared nothing for which I gifted to someone else - "

"Kenna – her necklace!" Francis suddenly remembered the pained look on his mother's face as she asked Kenna where she had obtained the necklace she was wearing that morning. He had never seen that piece before, but that could only mean that it was a gift from his father to the Queen many years ago, perhaps even before he was born, when she had told him they were happy and in love. He looked somewhat coldly at his father.

"She was upset because you gave _Kenna_ a necklace that you'd given _her_ , something that meant a lot to her?"

"Something that meant _nothing_ to her, Francis!" Henry's voice warned him not to press the subject further. "Why else would I choose to take it for another?! She had discarded it, and I'll have you know that it meant a lot to _me_ , even if it didn't to her."

"How do you know?!" The Dauphin raised his voice, angered at his father's selfishness and ignorance about his own wife's feelings. "You have just decided that she discarded it! What if it meant enough to her that she kept it sentimentally, never to wear, but to keep as something special?! Did you think about how she might feel about it?!"

Henry stood suddenly, returning his son's anger, shouting bitterly, "Catherine de Medici doesn't FEEL! She is cold-hearted and incapable of love – except for you of course. All her efforts are for her children, for the good of the realm." He gestured widely, sourly, his arm flinging back, fingers spread. Looking back at Francis, he added tiredly, "How would you know, in any case. You know your mother only tells you what she wants you to hear. Whatever will serve her purpose." He swept his arm angrily at the sheathed sword and waistcoat on the end of his bed, and they fell off the edge, the sword clattering heavily to the floor.

"She didn't tell me! She didn't tell me anything. She – I know because… I happened upon her after she left the throne room, and - "

"You _happened_ upon her?" Henry's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You mean you ran after her to see if she needed help finding something to blame me for?!"

"SHE WAS UPSET!"

"So she says!"

"You didn't see her, Father. Mother, she – she is dealing with more than you know. She is doing her best, and I'm sure she would never want you to know – I'm sure she feels you don't care…" Francis gave his father a hard questioning look, and the King scoffed and looked away to the tapestry that graced the wall by his bed.

"What could Catherine possibly have to struggle with? She has been pardoned, she has you back, happily married… Everything else is carrying on as before. You could say she's got her life back!" Henry threw his hands up in perplexed annoyance.

"You're wrong about her, Father. She DOES feel. I'm… I'm concerned about her." Francis laid his hand on the back of a chair, glancing at it as he fingered its smooth texture thoughtfully.

"Because of her outburst today?!" The King rolled his eyes.

"She was crying, Father."

Henry looked up sharply, feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach. The silence was too deep, and he quickly remembered to breathe in order to speak, though it felt like an age before he was able.

"I'm sure she has used a few tears to win over many a man in her time." He protested mildly, in a voice unusually quiet and unconfident for the King of France.

"Father, aren't you listening to me?! She didn't even know I was there! It wasn't a show for my benefit!" He paused, taking a steadying breath, returning his gaze to his hand on the wooden back of the chair. "I've – I've never seen her so upset. It worried me, Father. She assured me everything was alright, of course, once she realised I was there, but…" He looked at his father. "Must you assume the worst of her all the time? Couldn't you entertain the possibility that you might be wrong? That Mother might be hurting? That she might have feelings, many of which _you_ could be responsible for? Perhaps if you could make things a bit easier for her, she would be more able to deal with… the other things."

"What other things?"

Francis sighed, suddenly tired by their conversation, and hoping he wasn't doing the wrong thing by his mother in talking with his father about it. "She told me that she was especially burdened by troubles lately, or she implied it at least. She wouldn't really talk to me about it. Father, you do know that Mother is just terribly private with her feelings, don't you? She would never reveal them, but it doesn't mean they are not there."

Henry looked at the floor, his strength evaporating rapidly.

"Father, I just wanted to bring it to your attention, that's all. I don't know what other things Mother is dealing with, but I am concerned about her. It's not like her, and I – I thought it might be helpful if you knew." Francis straightened and moved towards the door of his father's chambers. "Goodnight, Father."

Henry looked up at his son, blank and tired. "Thank you Francis. Goodnight."

As the door closed, Henry slumped back against the bed. He didn't know what to think. He had not been prepared to hear what Francis had revealed to him. Catherine, _crying_?!... _Catherine_ , crying?! Without something to gain from it? That _never_ happened. He shook his head disbelievingly. Could he have hurt her that much? A cold feeling of guilt crept into his stomach, and his mind flashed back to various occasions in his memory that he had said or done something hurtful, only to have her react harshly, coldly, or seemingly not at all. Could he have been mistaken? What if Francis was right, and she was in pain, but too damn stubborn to let it show? Something gnawed painfully inside him. It hurt him to think of Catherine hurting. She was… she was too important to him. He dropped his head into his large hand, rubbing at the tension that had gathered in his brow.

Francis was right. It was not like Catherine. This just wouldn't do at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The day over at last, Catherine sat at her vanity once more, quietly, thoughtfully, as her ladies finished preparing her for bed. Gentle hands unpinned and combed her hair as she absently traced the lace on the cuff of her nightgown sleeve with a finger.

"Would you like it tied back tonight, your Grace?"

"No. That will be all, thank you."

The Queen looked up as the door to her chambers opened, glad of the sight of one of her ladies bearing a bowl containing the requested herb-soaked linen cloth.

"Thank you, Elise." Her tone was grateful as she accepted it. Her ladies bid her goodnight and left her to retire to bed. Catherine inhaled the scent of lavender and various decongestive herbs mixed together, sweet and sharp all at once, but refreshing and soothing. Her head ached. It always did after crying the way she had that morning, even if it had been hours earlier. It always brought about these headaches, and she had passed the evening with difficulty, longing for the moment she could escape to her chambers to soothe her aching head and rest for the night.

She climbed between smooth sheets, arranging the cloth carefully on the little table beside her bed and extinguishing the candle. She lay back slowly onto soft pillows. Closing her eyes gratefully, she breathed the soothing fragrance and fell into an exhausted sleep almost immediately.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Henry paused outside the doors to his wife's chambers. He wasn't even sure why he was there, or what he would say to Catherine when he saw her, but he was too troubled by his conversation with Francis to retire to bed just yet. He wanted to see his wife for himself, to assess her situation – to see for himself if it were possible that he had been deceived by her cold exterior, and perhaps… perhaps find out if he would be able to see through to the real Catherine again, if she was actually in there, and discover the truth about what she held in her heart. He raised his hand to knock at her door, and became suddenly apprehensive. Surprised at the butterflies in his stomach, he decided to steady himself with a bolder approach. With a brief glance at her guards standing to the side of the entrance to her chambers, Henry stepped forward and opened the door.

It was apparent almost at once that the Queen had already retired to bed. The room was in quiet darkness except for the low fire in the hearth, which flickered and crackled intermittently. Henry's eyes strained to make out the shape of his wife's bed at the darkest end of the room. No sound came from there at all, and he took a few cautious steps in that direction. The scent of something both sweet and pungent filled his nostrils as he moved closer. Something with lavender, perhaps? His eyes began to adjust to the dark, and he could make out the image of Catherine's small shape in her bed. Even approaching her quietly, he knew she must be exhausted if he had made it that far without waking her. She looked almost childlike, sleeping there. Her covers were pulled up to her chest, with an arm folded over the top. Unexpected tenderness swelled within him as he watched her sleep, her curls fanned out over the pillow that she was resting on. One of her hands lay amongst them, fingers slightly entwined in the silky locks, curved and relaxed. Her chest rose and fell slowly and steadily as she slept. Looking down at his wife with affection, Henry noticed how pale she looked in the dim light, and how drawn and tense her features seemed. He thought back to his conversation with Francis, and the unhappy tightness in his stomach reminded him again how much Catherine meant to him, and why he'd had to see her tonight.

Had he known she had feelings… How could he _not_ have known? Of course she must have feelings! All people feel. But all these years, she had seemed indifferent – cold, almost. Colder as the years went by. Henry loved her, but burying his feelings and seeking comfort elsewhere seemed like the best thing to do, and then it became the only way to manage things. He had stopped thinking about it, but he supposed that he had really forgotten how to approach the difficulties in his marriage in any other way.

Perhaps he was wrong, though. Perhaps Francis had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn't about feelings at all. Henry was sure he recognized the aroma pervading the air around his wife's bed. Some sort of decongestant? So she was unwell, then? That would account for her apparent instability today, and of course Francis couldn't have known of it. Strengthened by the comfort of this rational explanation, Henry decided to leave Catherine to sleep, and inquire as to her health tomorrow. Stifling the slight ache as he looked at her beautiful sleeping form one last time, hoping that she was not going to be _too_ unwell, Henry impulsively reached out and touched his wife's face tenderly, skimming her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. He stooped and kissed her forehead, so softly that his lips barely brushed her skin. Pausing for the briefest moment to inhale her light, sweet scent, he straightened, turned, and left her chambers, ready to retire to bed for the night.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Catherine sat bolt upright, her breath fast and ragged, her heart pounding. Shifting slightly against the sheets, she glanced about her as she attempted to wet her mouth with her dry tongue. Familiar movement in the dim light of her chambers flooded her with relief. One of her ladies approached her bed, candle in hand, bearing a drink of water.

"Another nightmare, your Majesty?"

"Yes." The Queen drank gratefully and handed the cup back.

"Will you rest a while longer, or would it please your Majesty to be brought a diversion – a book, perhaps?"

"If you would bring me my robe. I think I will sit by the window for a while before returning to bed."

Accepting her lady's help in draping her shoulders with her thick velvet robe, Catherine dismissed her with a nod and a grateful smile, and swung her legs out of bed. Alone with her thoughts once more, she crossed the room to the windows, wrapping the luxurious fabric snugly around her. Outside the castle, dawn was approaching. Over the dark trees of the woods, the sky was a silvery blue – the first glimmer of a new day. A flock of birds, silhouetted against the lightening sky, scattered up from the woods, their distant calls echoing in the stillness of the new morning.

Catherine curled up in the window seat. Her thoughts turned to the reason for her waking – another dream about loss. She had relived the events of recent months once again. The loving sacrifice that Richard had made for her. The last time she saw him, as they led him away to be executed, even then apologizing for not having saved her, as they did so. He was so selfless, always. She loved him for the way he loved her, although it had never compared to the way she felt for Henry. Richard had been beheaded within the hour; his life ended. Just like that. Catherine had not allowed herself to think of it. She had been preoccupied with other things, as it happened, which helped – although ironically, those things involved more loss for her. Clarissa. The guilt stung at her eyes even as she formed the girl's name in her mind. If only she had known… If only she could have spared her the dreadful existence she had had, and the fact that it was Catherine's own choices that had caused it – she could hardly bear to think about it. Her own daughter. The sweet, helpless babe she had held in her arms for the first time, that chilly morning at around this same hour. Eyelashes fluttering closed, the Queen pressed her palm to her chest through the thick fabric, breathing deep, steady breaths for a few moments, distancing herself from her troubled thoughts before they overwhelmed her.

Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes again and gazed out across the landscape, watching the colours of dawn begin to play out across the sky as silvery gold dominated the horizon, and reflected off the lakes and ponds in the grounds.

Her dream had continued on its path, her family disowning her for shame – for _shame_! – and leaving her alone to her fate. Her own life nearly lost, and then learning of the kidnapping of her darling boys. She had almost lost them too. And their eventual safety had been brought about by the loss of her own daughter, before her very eyes. If Mary hadn't acted so quickly… Catherine winced as a sharp pain brought her out of her anguished recollection. She straightened her fingers stiffly, reprimanding herself silently for her anxious habit of picking her cuticles. Shaking her head in frustration, she bemoaned the fact that her anguish and pain seemed to force its way through no matter how efficiently she squashed it down in her waking hours. She could not control her dreams.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Catherine lay her head against the soft window seat cushion. As the sun's edge rose over the woods, her eyes fluttered closed, and she slept, more restfully this time.

/

AN: So there isn't much dialogue in this chapter, but more is coming! I want Henry beginning to realise Catherine's situation, and to remember how much he loves her first! :) Thank you all so much for the lovely comments that have kept me motivated. I haven't had so much time to write, but I am continuing!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"A family breakfast? Why?"

The Queen's eyes snapped sharply to the servant bearing the King's request, keeping her head still as the finishing touches were put to her hair that morning. Her neck was stiff down one side from the hour of sleep she'd had on the window seat. It had taken her lady Charlotte shaking her by the shoulder to rouse her, such was her exhaustion after her disturbed night.

"The King didn't say, your Majesty." The man bowed respectfully and left the room at the slight wave from his Queen's hand.

Catherine sat, perplexed, as Charlotte fastened her jeweled necklace. Why would Henry call the family to eat breakfast together? He didn't often do that, and when he did, it was for an important reason – a discussion perhaps, but she would have been privy to such a thing beforehand. In preparation for an event, possibly. They would be entertaining Hungarian dignitaries within the week, but Catherine didn't think that would be a reason for Henry to call the family together. Not that she disliked the idea. She enjoyed seeing all her loved ones together around the table, her children and her husband. It was a rare and precious sight to her. Pushing the questions from her mind, she stood and picked up the light cloak that Charlotte had laid out for her and, wrapping it around her shoulders, set off to the dining room.

As she rounded the corner to the great dining hall, she could hear the sound of her children before she even saw them. Ripples of happy laughter and bubbling chatter – it was a lovely sound to Catherine's ears.

"Good morning, my darlings!"

Heavy chairs scraped bluntly against the stone floor as little ones ran to greet their mother, and Catherine paused by the long table, smiling down fondly at her children, a small head of hair resting under each of her hands as she was hugged from both sides.

"Mother! You look lovely today!"

"Good morning, Mother! I'm so hungry! When is breakfast being served?!"

"Mama, my dwess is dust like yours! See? See my dwess!"

Stroking little faces and dropping kisses on heads and cheeks, Catherine responded as best she could to the quick fire greetings. Her children made her feel all lit up inside, and she was grateful for the warm distraction from her more difficult emotions.

"Thank you, darling, so do you! I expect we'll eat when your father arrives, Charles – not long now." She cupped his cheek affectionately, and then turned to her littlest daughter. "Margot, my sweetness! What a beautiful dress! You look wonderful!" Catherine hugged her, and felt soft little arms wrap around her neck, and a slightly wet kiss press upon her cheek. How she loved her children! Standing again, she helped Margot climb back into her chair at the table, and greeted Francis with a warm smile, as he sat with Mary, opposite Margot. Smiling back, his eyes full of love and concern for her, Catherine was about to say something to him, when his eyes shifted their focus behind her to the entrance.

"Good morning!" a confident, deep voice rang out.

Catherine turned to see her husband striding into the room. She loved his stride in his leather trousers. He looked so handsome this morning. Shaking herself mentally, she took her seat at the table as he took his beside her. He smiled cheerfully round at his offspring, who greeted him in kind, and signaled for the servants to begin serving breakfast.

Henry surveyed his Queen as best he could without drawing her attention. He meant to see how she was doing, having woken to find no report of his wife being in poor health that morning. He wanted to reassure himself that she was completely herself, that Francis had been mistaken in his observation, and that she could perfectly well interact normally and cheerfully with her family as she always did.

By the third helping of eggs and another slice from the large roasted ham for his ravenous sons, he was feeling decidedly uneasy. He had watched Catherine as she had smiled and talked intermittently with her children, enjoying the rare beauty that was her face when she smiled a warm and genuine smile. She had greeted him cordially, though without much eye contact, but something seemed off, somehow… Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, uncertain eyes on his wife, as a servant removed his plate from before him. She seemed a bit absent, and her ever-present sparkle was missing. Even as she ate, she held herself somewhat stiffly, and he noticed that she had that same drawn, tired look as he had noted when he had visited her chambers the evening before. Leaning a little closer, his gaze searched her features. Were her eyes a little puffy? Frustration ate at him over his paranoia. She was probably _fine,_ and he was allowing himself stress over something that wasn't even there. If Francis hadn't mentioned anything to him, he wouldn't be searching for signs of unhappiness and seeing things that could be his own imagination!

Henry sighed heavily, throwing his napkin onto the table more forcefully than he'd intended to with the flip of his wrist, in his exasperation. Catherine turned her head slightly towards him.

"What's the matter Henry?"

"Nothing. I - " Henry sat up straighter in his chair. "I forgot to tell the children why I summoned them to breakfast this morning."

The King gave a convincing speech about Royal duty and honour, and outlined the schedule for the week with the visiting dignitaries, and his expectations of his children during that time. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the younger ones nodded eagerly, proud of their status and keen to impress their father as part of such an important family. Waving her little children off with their nannies to attend their lessons for the day, and kissing Francis on the cheek as he passed her with Mary to see to their duties for the rest of the morning, Catherine turned to her husband, who was watching his fingers as they fiddled with the lace edge of the tablecloth.

"Why did you really summon the family to breakfast, Henry? Surely not just for the sake of the Hungarians visiting."

Henry shifted slightly in his chair, unsure how to explain his motives. "Is there something wrong with a man wanting to share breakfast with his wife and children?"

"No," answered Catherine, quietly, "But it's not usual."

Her husband stood from his chair, tall and strong, looking down at her now. She avoided his eyes, focusing on his chest, partly because of the aggravated muscle in her neck, and partly because she knew her resolve wasn't at its usual strength. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

"I was… concerned. You seem pre-occupied, and I wondered – I wondered if all is well." Henry rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I… _regret_ … our conversation in the throne room yesterday."

Somewhat astonished by what appeared to be – could it be? – an _apology_ from her husband, Catherine turned her eyes up to meet his. She did not expect to see such concern, and even perhaps affection, bearing down on her from those handsome dark eyes. Feeling disarmed by the unexpected sight, she faltered, eyelashes fluttering back down again, fingers twisting her rings absently.

"I appreciate your concern. I am just tired, Henry. I haven't been sleeping well of late."

He reached his hand up and cupped it around the soft side of her shoulder, tenderly shifting his hold down a little to her upper arm. He had been so distracted by hurt, and so focused on feeling angry towards her for so long. Allowing himself to set those feelings aside, he was taken aback by the strength of the love and affection for his Catherine that overrode everything else, all of a sudden. It almost took his breath away. She was looking down, and his view was of the smooth coils of her beautiful strawberry blonde hair, her crown anchored neatly amongst them. Much as he'd remembered from his night visit, she seemed so little and vulnerable – very unlike Catherine – and something about her tugged at his heart. A surge of protectiveness flooded through him. He cupped her chin, and slowly tipped her face up so that he could see her.

"You do look tired, Catherine." Why wouldn't she meet his gaze?

"It's nothing." Why wouldn't he stop looking into her so deeply? "I will take a nap this afternoon. That's all I need."

Henry paused, recognizing one of Catherine's walls when he saw it. So she _was_ keeping some sort of difficulty from him. Francis had not been mistaken. Well, he wouldn't have his strong, beautiful wife overwhelmed with a burden she felt she could not share. He took his hand from her chin decisively.

"Yes, do that, Catherine. I don't like to see you looking so tired." He bent his head and, to Catherine's surprise, kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "I will check on you later." His smile was kind and his eyes were soft as he lingered a moment, before turning and walking out of the dining hall, leaving the Queen to try to make sense of his actions, and her conflicting emotions.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Colours and sensations were magnified in her moment of terror, as Catherine looked about her. Such a small piece of wood on such a vast ocean. Seized with an almost animalistic urge to protect her children, she clutched her youngest ones tightly to her sides as the waves lurched higher. She knew it was hopeless, but she could not accept it – surely there had to be something, some way to survive?! All the love she had for her children was doubled, quadrupled, more than she had ever felt before in her waking hours. The tears shining in her baby's eyes, her little girl's anxious gaze soft and pleading as she looked into her eyes.

"Everybody come close to me!" she shouted, over the crashing of the waves. "The raft is weaker near the edges!"

There were too many, too many for her to protect all by herself. Her arms could not surround them all. The first to break away was Clarissa. The raft cracked under her feet, and she flung a desperate arm towards her mother, screaming for help. Catherine grasped helplessly at her eldest daughter's hand.

"Hold on, Clarissa! Hold on to me!" she cried, but it was no use. Terrified of toppling some of her little children if she leaned any further, she was forced to let go, and Clarissa was swept away out of sight. Gasping, struggling to force down the raw emotion threatening to overwhelm her, Catherine turned to her remaining children.

"Hold tight to me, my darlings." She clutched them with shaking hands, filled with anguish at the sound of their frightened whimpers against her sides, almost inaudible over the roar of the angry ocean.

"Mama? Are we going to die?" came a little muffled voice.

"We are going to hold on tight. Perhaps Papa will come to rescue us very soon." She squeezed the little shoulders reassuringly.

"Mother!" A panicked cry from behind her. Catherine whipped her head round to see her precious Francis disappearing beneath the waves, his hands still reaching for her for a moment above the water.

"NO! FRANCIS!" she screeched out into the wild spray. All she could do was clutch her children tighter. She could not reach for him; she could not save him. Her children were being taken from her one by one, and the pain was excruciating. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the salty air stinging her raw chest as a wave of nausea assaulted her. Her Francis, her beautiful Francis, gone. And now her girls. With the swell of a wave and a crackle of brittle wood, Elisabeth and Claude fell screaming beneath the water. Just her little ones left.

"Be brave!" she gasped desperately, "Be brave my darlings. Never let go of me, never forget how much I love you. Mama loves you all so very much!"

She bent to hold them all closer to her, but only Margot remained, standing with her on a couple of square feet of wood.

"Ma-maa…" she whimpered in a shaky voice, "Is Papa nearly here? Wh-when will he r-rescue us?"

Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around the last part of her heart. "Very soon, my sweet love." she said soothingly, "I'm sure he's almost - " Breaking off suddenly, she saw beyond them a crown, Henry's crown, floating impossibly on the surface of the water. She knew he was gone, that he wasn't coming, that he never would come to their rescue. She knew they were doomed. And in that moment, distracted by her thoughts of her husband, her grip had loosened enough so that when the raft cracked in two, a strong wave swept her little girl away and into the distance over the surface of the sea, her tiny voice screaming for her mama, fading into the distance.

"NO!" screamed Catherine, distraught, "NO! PLEASE! _PLEASE!"_ She fell to her knees on the tiny scrap of wood keeping her afloat, alone in the ocean and overwhelmed with utter anguish and despair, the grief spearing her heart agonizingly. She could barely breathe. Looking up, her mouth wide with her pained cries, she tried desperately to take a breath, but none would come. Harder and harder she fought, panicking at the suffocating feeling, until the largest wave she had ever seen swelled up above her and came crashing down over her head.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Henry was distracted. The voice of his advisor droned into background noise as the King allowed his thoughts to wander once more to his wife. Her beautiful face. Her amazing ability to mother their children so perfectly, with such love and devotion. The way she looked in that gown that she had worn to the most recent banquet. The way her hair felt, soft and silky as he ran his fingers through it. He sighed. Too much time had passed since they had given time to such luxuries as sifting her beautiful hair through his fingers. What had happened to them?

His advisor cleared his throat nervously, bringing the King's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Oh. Yes, Edward. I'm a little distracted by another matter that I need to attend to. Perhaps we could reconvene tomorrow at the same time."

The man nodded his agreement, and Henry stood and left the room immediately, with one thing on his mind. Catherine. He knew, or hoped, that she would be taking the nap that she had promised to take. It was almost four… He hoped that his timing would be suitable, and that she would be awake and refreshed. He couldn't think of anything else but seeing her. Thinking of how vulnerable she had looked earlier, he just had to be sure that she was feeling better. He knew she was hiding her heart from him, but perhaps that was his own fault? She may not love him, but he thought that she might still feel affection for him, if she could put her hurt and anger aside like he had done this morning. Perhaps he could even help her? He suddenly longed to help her. To make her feel more like herself again. To see her smile and relax, and lose this pained tension that seemed to cloak her at present. It made him uneasy to see his usually cool and radiant wife so troubled. It was not like Catherine.

Turning the corner into the hallway that led to her chambers, Henry was surprised to see the guards outside Catherine's doors admitting the favourite of her ladies, who seemed in an anxious hurry. Chest tightening and pulse quickening, Henry increased his pace, catching the woman just as she was about to slip inside.

"What is it?" Concern laced his voice.

"Oh, your Grace!" Charlotte was startled by the sudden appearance of her King, and dropped into a curtsey immediately, before explaining herself. "I was summoned with haste to the Queen. She is having one of her nightmares and I must attend her."

"I will go to her."

"Please, your Majesty," stammered the woman, "She may be startled. She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs. Please…"

Henry let go of her arm suddenly, his heart almost dropping out of his chest as she made her way quickly inside to attend to the Queen. One of her nightmares – so Catherine was known, by someone other than himself, to have frequent nightmares? Why didn't _he_ know of it?! He thought of Charlotte's words – "She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs." How those words cut him to the core. "It should be me," he thought to himself bitterly, "It should be _me,_ at her side, there when she needs me, knowing what to do for her." He hung his head in shame, snapping it up again suddenly at the sound coming from within his wife's chambers. Anguished sounds, those of panic and despair; pleading cries and mumbled words in that beautiful voice that belonged to the woman who seemed to matter to him more and more with each passing hour. Quickly stepping through the door, he pulled it closed behind him.

Charlotte seemed flustered, busily pouring a drink from a jug of water, and then removing a stopper from a small glass bottle, before tipping a little fragrant oil onto a cloth. Henry stood back in the shadows of the room, staying out of the line of sight if Catherine should wake, watching her writhing form in the bed beyond her bustling lady. His feet felt frozen in place, as though his whole body was as heavy as lead, and he was unable to move. He could only stand and observe his Catherine as she fought her demons. His sweet, brave wife. He couldn't even help her. He hated the way it felt.

Henry watched as Catherine arched her back, her gasps and whimpers increasing. He felt as though his heart would shatter when she screamed out, "NO! NO! PLEASE! _PLEASE!_ " Such was her agony – how he wished he could reach inside her dream and come to her rescue, from whatever it was.

Charlotte was at her side now, placing the drink down on the small table beside Catherine's pillow, and laying the cloth next to it. His wife was making choking, guttural sounds and he wondered if she was crying in her dream. The sounds turned to strangled gasps, and in a panic, he took a step forward. Could she not breathe?! Charlotte sat down on the bed hastily, turning to help her Queen, and in a sudden sweeping movement, Catherine sat bolt upright, gasping, pulling air harshly into her lungs as she grabbed and clutched frantically before her, searching out something to hold onto. Charlotte's calm hands closed over Catherine's shaking ones, and she spoke soothingly. Henry stepped back quietly, even further into the shadowed corner of the room. He was suddenly unsure if his presence here was appropriate. His Queen was undone, completely unmasked and raw, and he thought that she would feel most uncomfortable if she knew he was there. It could not be helped now, though. Leaving would bring her attention to him even more unexpectedly, and perhaps startle her too much while she was in this state. He watched, his heart filled with pain for his wife's suffering. When had he become so hardened to her? He had _caused_ her suffering not so long ago, and it didn't bother him then! He felt thankful that he was not so hard towards her now, but also filled with remorse for the pain he had put her through.

Down at the far end of his wife's chambers, Charlotte was speaking softly to her Queen. Henry could barely make out what was being said as he stood, a still and silent spectator, hidden in the shadows.

"There… it's over now, it's alright." The woman handed Catherine the drink, watching her sip it tremblingly before taking it from her and placing it back on the bedside table. Catherine's whole body shook. Henry could see it even from his distance.

"It was a particularly bad one, yes?" the soothing voice continued, as the fragrant cloth was wiped slowly over the Queen's sweaty forehead. "Would it help to talk about it?"

Catherine's shoulders hunched over, and her head dipped down into her arms as they came up to cradle it. In an anguished voice that Henry had never heard his wife use before, she whimpered, "I can't… I can't…" Almost pressing her own head down into her lap with her arms on top of it, Catherine began to sob. Henry forced a swallow past the painful lump in his throat as his eyes blurred with tears, unable to bear his wife's anguish, and equally unable to go to her side at this moment. He watched as Charlotte wordlessly leaned over Catherine's form and wrapped her arms around her, rocking her gently into her chest as she wept. He could not believe what he was seeing. He had never seen Catherine like this before, not ever. He wanted to run, to run far away from her pain and the fear that overwhelmed him. It frightened him to see Catherine in such a way. He hadn't realised how much of a steadying influence she had always been in his life, and how he had taken for granted that she was a perpetual source of strength and confidence. She radiated both, no matter what the circumstance, and no matter what difficulty she might be facing. But now, to see her like this… If his Catherine was broken, and if he was the one who broke her? How could he face her? How could he face _himself_? Running from himself would never be the answer, and Catherine needed him. But she didn't love him. She wouldn't want him. Perhaps she wouldn't even let him in? She might even resent his interest in getting closer to her. Henry began to feel suffocated with anxiety over the whole situation. He needed some air, some time to think how to approach Catherine after her trauma, and right now he did not have any idea what to say to her, let alone help her or meet her needs. Seeing the opportunity, he quietly opened the door to her chambers and, stricken with guilt and aching for his wife, he left, under the cover of the sound of her crying.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Half an hour later, Henry hovered awkwardly outside his Queen's chambers, until finally Charlotte emerged. Taking her arm impatiently, Henry led the woman away from the doors, before stopping to question her.

"How is she? Is she alright?"

Charlotte smiled, dipping her head respectfully. "Yes, your Majesty. The Queen has taken a bath and she is resting. She is feeling much better, I believe. I am going to fetch her some light refreshments."

Henry breathed a sigh of relief. Nodding his thanks, he watched Charlotte disappear down the hallway, and turned to face the doors of his wife's chambers. He had had time to walk the grounds and calm down, and to gain a little perspective. He felt better, and was glad to hear that Catherine did too. He hesitated momentarily, and then knocked, hoping that Catherine would appreciate the gesture. Usually he just entered any room he felt like entering. Hearing her bid him come in, he went.

Catherine's breath caught in her chest as she saw her husband's figure appear through the open door. She had not been expecting him, though she knew from Charlotte that he had known of her nightmare a short while earlier. And he had knocked!

"Henry!" she exclaimed in surprise. "What brings you here?"

Closing the door behind him, Henry beheld his wife. Curled in the window seat wearing a soft, comfortable dress of dark velvet, her hair still damp and loose over her shoulders from her bath, she looked like an angel in the warm afternoon light. Devoid of make-up, and the evidence of her emotions still visible in the slight soft swelling around her eyes, lips and nose; her cheeks flushed more pink than usual from her pained exertions, she looked an absolute wonder to Henry. She seemed younger, almost childlike in her beauty and the purity of her skin and eyes. Those exquisite eyes. They sparkled – never mind the slight puffiness around them – the deep honey tone that Henry had never seen in any other pair of eyes. She took his breath away, and he did not know how to form words to answer her, in that moment.

Catherine surveyed her husband quizzically. He was oddly quiet, and why was he looking at her like that? At length, he spoke.

"I hope you're feeling better, Catherine."

"Much better, thank you Henry." She paused, unsure how much he had been told of her state that afternoon. "My sleep was not as restful as I had expected it to be, but - " she straightened her shoulders, tossing her hair slightly so that it slipped off a shoulder and down her back, and offered her husband what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "I am fine."

He folded his hands behind his back, his gaze restlessly straying to the surfaces in his wife's chambers, taking in the papers neatly stacked on her desk, the shelf heavy with the books that she loved, her perfume bottles on her vanity. Catherine waited, watching him inquiringly, the silence between them as deep and still as the stone walls of the room.

Startling slightly at the return of her lady Charlotte, who broke the silence as she entered with a tray of tea and the Queen's favourite raspberry tartlets, Catherine closed her eyes for the briefest moment, a steadying hand on the cushion of the window seat. It pained Henry to see her so on edge, even as she declared herself quite recovered. Her voice was smooth and even as she thanked the woman, who poured the tea and left the Royal couple to themselves. Watching his wife carefully pick a plump raspberry from the top of one of the tartlets and pop it into her mouth, and catching a glimpse of her tongue curling around it to pull it in, Henry was mesmerized. How she affected him! She didn't even know she was doing it. He licked his lips, unconsciously. Catherine paused, offering her apparently hungry husband a tartlet. He crossed the room and sat beside her, accepting the sweet pastry. She looked down at a raspberry she was holding, rolling it in her fingertips thoughtfully.

"Why are you here, Henry?" she asked softly.

"I know that you're struggling, Catherine." His answer was blunt and to the point, though he hadn't meant it to sound as hard as it seemed to.

"And how would you know this?" Catherine fought down rising panic at the way he made her feel. Vulnerable, too vulnerable. The very idea that her husband _might_ know how unanchored she was… Fear clutched at her, fear of being exposed, of having no ability to control the situation, no ability to guard her battered heart and protect it from further pain. She raised her head, looking at him with feigned confidence as her well-practiced walls went up.

"You haven't been yourself lately. I've noticed." His wife lifted her chin further, almost in defiance of his accusation. "I know that Francis is concerned about you. I know you're not sleeping well. Your ladies tell me that you have nightmares, that your sleep is disturbed often."

"And this news interests you, Henry? You've sought out a weakness in me, and now you're enjoying having it to hold over me?"

"No, Catherine, you misunderstand me. I want to help you. I care about you."

His words hit her like a blow to the chest. Standing abruptly, she put distance between them to calm herself, crossing the room and pacing the long rug near the fire. Clenching her fists, she could barely contain the bitterness and anger that threatened to unleash itself in her husband's direction.

The King tried again, "I was here when you woke from your nightmare this afternoon. I – I didn't want to startle you…. I wanted so much to be by your side." Oblivious to his wife now shaking with anger and indignation, he continued, "I had no idea how much you were suffering." He looked up at her urgently. "Catherine. When you – when I heard you cry out like that…" He trailed off, seeing the state of her.

"And you think that having seen this… this _display_ of anguish, this vulnerability that you had no right to be privy to – you think that you can come here and tell me now of your great love for me, of your concern and care?!" The Queen's voice shook with feeling, and sarcasm dripped from every word as she finished her sentence. Her anger rising, she crossed the room to stand bristling before him.

" _What do you know of my feelings?!_ _What do you care?!_ " She huffed scornfully, her eyes slanting sideways away from her silent husband. "The irony! You care so gallantly for me over the suffering that you yourself have inflicted! My nightmares revolve around loss – loss that YOU have caused, Henry! You really expect me to unburden myself to you, to let down my guard, and invite you to see the darkest parts of my heart?" Her voice broke on the last word, and she dropped her chin to her chest, arms stiff by her sides and fists clenched, fighting for control. Having gained it a moment later, she lifted her head and spoke again, in a softer voice; calmer, although Henry could hear the slight tremor that it held.

"I can't trust you, Henry. You've given me every reason to be on my guard against you."

"Because I've hurt you?" Henry spoke up at last, "Because I haven't shown concern for your feelings in the past? I want to change that, Catherine. I regret having caused you pain by my actions."

His wife gave a dry laugh, and shook her head, casting her gaze to the windows beyond him.

" _You_ regret it?" Her tone was bitter and edged with sadness. "If only your actions spoke louder than your words."

Stepping forward suddenly, catching Catherine by surprise, Henry decided to speak with actions. Lifting her chin with his forefinger, he gave his wife no time to respond before leaning down and brushing her lips with his in a tender kiss. He kissed her with feeling and with love, with all his care and all his concern for her. Breaking the contact just barely, he caressed her lips with soft little kisses over and over, letting them last longer and become more heated as he felt her begin to relax into him. Suddenly, Catherine stiffened and pulled back sharply. Breathing heavily, she cast her eyes upwards to meet his, dark with hurt and resentment, and shining with unshed tears. Henry lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, but with lightning reflexes, Catherine's small hand slapped his arm away.

Confused, Henry stepped back a pace. "I just wanted to show you…" he began.

"… how much you _love_ me," finished his wife, bitterly. "Of course you did, Henry. It's the only language you know, isn't it?"

She turned away from him, walking back to the fireplace and gripping the mantle tightly. Head bowing, she spoke in a low voice, "Leave Henry. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of overcoming my difficulties without your help."

His heart sinking, Henry hesitated. He couldn't leave like this! Everything was worse, not better, and he'd wanted so much to let Catherine know how much he still cared for her. He couldn't bear the thought of her left alone with her struggles. It pained him to see her fight so hard not to show how she was feeling – now that he had realised she _did_ feel. He wanted to protect her and love her back to normal again. He hated seeing her so fragile and hurt, and it filled him with uncomfortable guilt that he was responsible. Watching her shoulders rise and fall as she kept her back to him, her breathing the only sign of movement that she made, Henry let out a regretful sigh, and left his wife's chambers.

/

AN: So, very long chapter! Hopefully not too long. Thanks as always, dear readers, for the encouraging reviews!

Chelseall83: We are on the same wavelength! :) I wrote this chapter before your Ch. 7 review - I am so excited to explore loss for Catherine. I know she's had so much, and I would have so loved to see that played out on the show, but oh well. I hope this meets with your approval, and I hope it's not too much, too fast for Henry with his feelings for Catherine. That's the one thing I wasn't sure I had done right this chapter...


	9. Chapter 9

**AN : **_After last chapter, I had a review that wondered if I had forgotten about Richard (from Henry's point of view), and in truth, yes I had! I was busy focusing on Catherine's emotional experience, not so much on Henry's, and I could choose not to go that route if I didn't feel like it. But I was intrigued about digging into that a little further, so that is what this chapter is. I am changing the rating of my story to T for this chapter. More to follow with some Henry and Catherine dialogue next chapter! Thanks so much for the very encouraging and supportive reviews, folks! I so appreciate each and every one! :)_

 _/-/_

Chapter Nine

Henry sank heavily back into his pillows, a gusty sigh escaping his lips. He felt bone tired. Uneasy and troubled by what he had witnessed of his Queen's raw emotion that afternoon, he had struggled through the duties of the early evening. Her lady Charlotte's words still haunted him, _"She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs."_ He envied the woman her closeness to Catherine. Twisting the gold ring that he never removed even to sleep or bathe, Henry pondered further. Trust must be earned… He knew she could not trust him, and he chastised himself for the reputation he had given himself, which now prevented him getting closer to his wife when he most longed to. On the other hand, trust had to run both ways. He did not feel quite settled in his own feeling of trust towards his wife either. She was so closed to him, and had been for so many years – yes, that might have been his own doing, but still. He did not really _know_ her, if she had hidden herself from him all these years. And then there was her own act of betrayal towards him. Henry pushed the sting away that had arisen with that memory. He turned on his side, a physical change of position to help him focus on something else. He had hoped to see Catherine that evening, but he had been informed that the Queen had taken supper in her chambers, and he had been too nervous at the prospect of going to see her again that same day. It was so unlike him to feel nervous and fidgety – an attribute that he always found so irritating in others. Henry felt as though an earthquake had shaken his foundations, and left him unstable and unsure, all of a sudden. Tomorrow, perhaps. He needed a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow he would talk to Catherine again, when she was less on-edge, and more receptive to him. Soothed by the thought, Henry dozed off.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Stirring gradually, Henry's sleepy senses were aware of only a few things. Golden light – flickering candles and crackling firelight. Comfort – the soft support of a mattress fit for royalty, the silk sheets luxuriously smooth under his skin, and the coverlet the perfect cozy weight to keep him drowsy. Warmth and softness – his bare body curled against the smooth supple skin of his wife's naked back, his knees tucked up behind her bent legs, and their calves and ankles entwined. His arms encircled her. The lower of his arms curled under her neck, acting as part of the pillow that supported her as she slept, her delicate hands wrapped lightly around his forearm in front of her collar bone. His top arm, heavy with sleep, draped over her waist, her delightfully soft belly under the palm of his hand. His arm rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm with her breathing as she slept. His face was buried in the softest bouquet of sweet-smelling curls, fanned out behind her over his neck and chest. Henry lay in his blissful, drowsy state, and breathed his Catherine in. He loved the protective curl of his body around hers, and how small she seemed against him. He drew her into himself a little tighter, loving the feel of her skin against his. She shifted a little, sleepy sounds escaping her lips which Henry found so endearing.

Smiling into her hair, Henry lifted his head slightly to kiss the edge of her ear.

"Catherine…" he whispered.

"Mmmhh."

He kissed her earlobe.

"Catherine…"

"Uhm?" Her voice sounded a little stronger now, but she was still dozing. Henry kissed her neck, shifting his hand from its position on her belly to graze the tips of his fingers in a low sweeping arc, down from the crest of her hip towards the juncture of her thighs, and upwards again to the other hip. He felt her abdomen tense slightly as she slid the soft calf of her leg against his, yielding to his touch. She was definitely waking up now.

"I love you…" he growled seductively into her ear, his lips tickling her with their proximity so that she couldn't help but let out a sleepy giggle, shrugging her shoulder up instinctively to protect her ear. Catherine pressed her body back into Henry's, sliding a lazy arm behind her to smooth her hand over his hip and backside.

"Mmmm…" she murmured happily, "I like those words." Henry could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke with slow sleepiness. How glorious she felt against him! She could slide those hands over him any time she wanted. Her touch was languid and heavy, influenced by her drowsy state, but she was waking up, and Henry could sense her desire for him, mirroring his own for her.

Shifting slightly as she reached behind her for him, she spoke again, her voice filled with longing and lust.

"I love you too, Richard."

In a sudden shock of cold, Henry could barely breathe as he recoiled from the words his wife had just spoken. No longer bathed in golden light or clothed in warmth, he stood aside in a grey corner, an outsider looking in. The candles between him and the delightful creature in the bed obscured his view, blurring and spotting his vision with their brightness, as he craned his neck to see what was happening. He could only make out the slow writhing movements of the supple skin amongst the covers that he had been pressed up against just moments before – or had he? Confusion marred his thinking. Had he been there? Was he even here right now?

His focus was jerked back suddenly at the sounds coming from the softly lit bedchamber before him. Sighs, gentle laughter, pleasured moans muffled a little by something – or someone? Henry felt hot and cold all at once. The place where he stood was devoid of warmth and he was still unclothed. His skin crinkled into goosebumps in the chilled air, but fire burned beneath his flesh. Somebody was with Catherine. And she had spoken _that_ name, she had answered his profession of love with her own, but for _him._ Henry seethed inside, hating his one-time friend for the depth of his betrayal.

Wanting to be anywhere but here, Henry turned to leave, but his feet would not obey. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to prevent himself hearing what was taking place beyond the candlelight. Tears of rage blurred his vision as the sounds he loved most from Catherine's lips came more frequently and more fervently, arousing him despite his anguish. When she finally cried out the name of the man he hated more than any other, the man he had once trusted more than any other, Henry's rage had disintegrated into hollow despair. He hung his head, his heart aching too much to bear. Suddenly becoming aware of somebody standing before him, he looked up to see Richard. He knew the man could not be real, for he had had him beheaded the same day that he had learned of his affair with his wife. But there he stood, his calm, steady gaze bearing far too deeply into Henry's troubled eyes, and then he spoke.

" _She is used to my presence as she wakes, and I am used to providing what she needs."_

Gasping harshly, pulling sustaining air into his lungs, Henry flung himself over onto his back in his wide bed. Breathing hard, he stared into the darkness of his chambers, willing himself to calm down. His skin was cold and clammy, and his heart raced. Sitting up, he reached for his robe at the foot of his bed and slung it around his broad shoulders.

"Just a dream," he assured himself in his head, "Just a dream. It's not real. Not really true. You killed the bastard, and it was years ago anyway." Henry heaved a shaky sigh and rubbed his face with his hands.

His body calming down, he lay back again into the pillows. Unable to think about sleep, he found his mind consumed with thoughts of his dream. He felt raw and angry. Angry with Richard, but less so with Catherine. Henry considered… No, he wasn't angry with Catherine. He knew he had probably driven her into the arms of another man by his own repeated infidelity, but he hadn't expected it all the same. His anger was not directed at her, but she had _hurt_ him; humiliated him. Seeing her in his dream – _his_ wife, the woman whose body _he_ , and _he alone_ should delight in – hearing her take pleasure in another man's arms, willingly… Listening as he had evidently pleased her… And she had spoken with such feeling when she said she loved him. Henry sighed again. Of course she loved him. There must have been great love between them for Richard to sacrifice his life for her, after all these years apart too. He wondered if Catherine had ever loved him like she had loved Richard. Feeling slightly nauseated, he shook himself mentally. He could hardly bear to think of it. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his chest below his collar bone, absently attempting to soothe the ache that such a thought had created within him.

Tossing and turning, and dozing fitfully until the cold light of a new dawn filled his chambers, Henry finally flung his covers aside in angry frustration. He dressed quickly, thrusting his legs aggressively into his leather trousers, not caring to wait for servants to attend him. Kicking over his bedside table for good measure, he relished in the crash resounding off the walls of his room, and the sound of the cold candle cracking on the hard stone floor, the holder ringing with the hard impact as it rolled nearby.

A guard entered almost immediately, accompanied by a flustered servant.

"Your Majesty!" the guard looked concerned, "Are you in need of assistance?"

Henry waved him off without words, and seeing the table upturned on the floor, he retreated. The servant remained, nervous and hurried, seeing his King half-dressed already.

"Apologies, your Grace, I didn't realise you had risen for the day." The man fumbled with two decorative broad-chested doublets, trying to arrange them for the King to choose from.

Henry's bad mood intensified – he had no patience for bumbling fools with their fidgeting ways. He addressed his servant with bad grace and a raised voice, bellowing to be left alone to ready himself for the day, and then adding as a sudden afterthought, "Prepare my riding habit, and have my horse made ready immediately. I am going for a ride."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN : I wanted to use a poem for a specific detail in this chapter, so I did some research. I wanted poetry that was authentic for the time. I ended up finding pretty much THE perfect poem, and by a French poet, written in Catherine's lifetime! Frustratingly, it was written in 1578, years after Henry died. But it was so perfect that I decided to overlook the detail and use it anyway! Just imagine that it's really from 20 or so years prior (what's a couple of decades in all these hundreds of years?!). I loved it so much for them! The poet is Pierre de Ronsard, and it's called 'Sonnets for Hélène'. I've since learned that ****Hélène was a lady, much younger than Pierre, who was actually a member of Catherine de' Medici's court! Wonderful trivia!**

 **Thank you so so much for the lovely words in your reviews - I am literally overwhelmed reading some of them! I can hardly believe that what I write (little old me!) is appreciated so much! Thank you. :) I hope this chapter (longest one yet!) is to your approval also.**

/

Chapter Ten

The early morning sunshine cast long shadows across the dewy grass as Henry rode out of the stables, and spurred his horse into a canter. Once out in the open, he urged the animal to go faster, leaning forwards over the dark mane, his senses sharpening. He delighted in the sensation of becoming almost one with his horse, their shared speed blurring everything around them as their combined energy forged them ahead. His body softened to the lead of the powerful animal that carried him; powerful, yet ready to heed to the slightest of his commands by the twitch of his hand or heel. The steady, rhythmic sound of the horse's hooves thundering against the varying textures of the land beneath them. Henry especially loved the sensation and sound of horses' hooves galloping through leaves and soft earth.

Spurring his horse on towards the forest, he could already feel the tension and frustration beginning to dissipate. He filled his lungs with the crisp, invigorating morning air, and breathed out his troubles as he and his horse entered the forest, the soft ground muffling the sound of pounding hooves beneath them. The rich musky smell of earth and bark, and the zesty scent of evergreen firs flooded his senses. Henry forgot Richard, forgot thrones and castles, forgot regret and desire, and became rider, adventurer; just another part of the nature around him.

After a good ten minutes of hard riding through the forest, his troubled soul sufficiently soothed, Henry slowed his horse to a canter. He knew of a lake not too far ahead, and his horse needed watering after the strenuous exercise.

Dismounting at the clearing near the lake, he took the reins and led his horse to the water. They crossed the earthen ground softly and, taking the most direct route to the water's edge, emerged from a thicket to the perfect place for the horse to be refreshed. The King tied the reins to the outstretched branch of a lakeside tree and allowed his steed to drink, patting him with affection on his sleek neck. He turned his gaze to the lake, watching the reflection of birds skim the surface of the water as they flew overhead at intervals. It was a beautiful lake, irregular in shape, thick foliage leaning out over the water in places, and large rocks and boulders jutting out into the water to the eastern curve of the lake edge.

Henry's breath caught in his chest as his eye suddenly fell on something that he had missed when he first arrived at the lakeside. Around the curve of the lake, bathed in dappled sunlight, he saw someone sitting on one of the smooth wide rocks at the water's edge. Moving softly so as not to attract attention to himself, his curiosity urged him over the damp earth and towards the clump of bushes that had almost hidden the person from his view. Threading his way through the trees, his ears began to pick up the softest of voices, melodic and sweet, speaking in almost a whisper.

Treading carefully, he leaned against the trunk of a tree, as close as he dared get to the woman – which he had discerned from the voice – who sat beyond. Leaning around the rough bark slowly, he stifled a gasp as his eyes widened in surprise. It was Catherine!

His Queen sat on the rock before him, her back slightly turned towards him as she faced the open lake, the splendour of the scenery beyond her paling into insignificance against her beauty as he beheld her in the morning light. Her horse was tied to an overhanging tree at the water's edge a little way beyond, much as his own was. Her heavy riding cloak was spread on the rock upon which she sat. She was a vision in a soft dress of metallic earthen tones – perhaps why he hadn't initially spotted her. Her hair, usually arranged in sophisticated designs on the back of her head, was pulled into a simple ribbon tied at the nape of her neck, the many wisps of curls that had worked their way loose decorating her shoulders and framing her face as they caught the sunlight against the subtle browns of her dress. She was not here to be seen by others. She was here for solitude, and dressed accordingly. She looked, to Henry, more beautiful than ever.

Catherine was reading from a book that she held in her hands as she sat, knees pulled up towards her chest. Henry watched his wife sigh, and gaze out over the lake, before turning a page. Contemplative, he thought. He wondered if she was troubled, dwelling on things that he wished she would let him in to help her with. Or if this was the help she needed, some quiet and relaxation to ease her troubled mind. As her voice rose again, Henry recognized the words she was reading as poetry, modern poetry, by the sound of it. Catherine loved poetry – she loved all arts and literature, anything that would add to life's beauty, as she had once described it to him. He found her passion so endearing, and it made him smile to think of it now as he listened to her read. Another pause, and then a page turned to a new poem. She seemed to hesitate before starting this one. Her finger traced the page delicately, and she dipped her head for a moment, closing her eyes. When she lifted her head again, she began, her soft voice barely reaching Henry's ears as she whispered the words as if to herself. He could not make out the first verses, but her demeanour had changed. She seemed heavier, burdened, somehow. Henry strained to listen more closely, blocking out all other sound and distractions from his hearing to catch her emotion-laced tones.

" _If to love is to pursue a happiness which flies me,  
to lose myself in loneliness, to suffer much pain,  
to fear greatly and to hold my tongue,  
to weep, to beg for pity, and to see myself sent away,  
If to love is to live in you more than in myself,  
to hide great weariness under a mask of joy…"_

Here, she broke off, her voice too strained to continue for the moment. She put her forehead to her knees and Henry held his breath, suddenly terrified of having to stand isolated to watch his beautiful wife break apart again. To his great relief, she lifted her face once more, passing her hand briefly over her eyes and intentionally breathing deeply, before continuing, her voice shaky but determined.

 _"To feel in the depths of my soul the odds against which I fight,  
to be hot and cold as the fever of love takes me,  
To be ashamed, when I speak to you, to confess my pain –  
if that is to love, then I love you furiously,"_

Catherine's voice broke, and the King watched her with anguish as she fought herself, even out here in her own space and to her knowledge unobserved, steadying her emotions to continue.

 _"I love you, knowing full well my pain is deadly.  
The heart says so often enough; the tongue is silent."_

She let out a long shuddery sigh, placing the book next to her on the rock, open at the page she had been reading from. Hugging her knees tightly to her, she rested her chin upon them and stared out over the lake, as still and reflective as the waters that she lost her gaze in.

Henry could see that the words had profoundly affected her, and he considered their meaning also. If speaking of love brought her such sorrow and such emotion, could it be a longing of her own heart? Whose love did she have sorrow over? It couldn't be his, because she was cold to him. Affection, perhaps. Longings for what might have been, if they hadn't lived out the last 20 years the way they had chosen to. But not love. Henry felt sure she didn't love him. Not since the early years of their marriage, and perhaps it wasn't love even then? He thought of his dream, unhappy resentment stirring in his heart once more at the memory. Perhaps it was Richard that she loved, as the Catherine of his dreams had declared? He considered – if she had loved Richard, and lost him when Henry took his head, could all of these emotions that were so unlike Catherine, be evidence of her mourning his loss? Because she had given her heart to Richard? That might even explain why she wouldn't let him in. It wasn't exactly a subject that either of them would want to discuss with the other.

Unable to bear the discomfort of his thoughts any longer, Henry stepped through the trees and out into the open lakeside behind his wife. They needed to talk about this.

Catherine jumped at the sound of his feet treading through the twigs and leaves behind her, hand flying to her mouth as she whipped round to see who was there.

"Henry! You scared me half to death! Whatever are you doing here?!" she gasped breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I was out riding and brought my horse to the lakeside to drink. What brings you out here so early in the morning?" Crossing behind her on the rock she was sitting on, Henry sat down, facing his wife a little, his knees bent casually as hers were.

"I – I didn't sleep well. I thought a ride would clear my mind a bit." She shrugged her shoulders up almost to her ears as she hugged her knees, and held them there tensely for a moment, an insecure mannerism that Henry recognized straight away for what it was.

"Another nightmare?" he enquired gently. Catherine nodded slightly, looking out over the lake, saying nothing. "You're not the only one." Henry's voice sounded more bitter than he'd intended. "I came for a ride to clear my head too." He smiled at her wide eyes as she turned them to him inquisitively.

"Oh?" Catherine wondered aloud, "What disturbs you so greatly in your dreams that you need to get away?"

Henry debated with himself for a moment. Should he tell her? She had been completely closed off about her own disturbing dreams and struggles, but that didn't mean he should follow suit. What purpose would it serve to answer her honestly? Dreaming about it was bad enough – telling Catherine about his insecurities about Richard, about their affair, well… that would be painful. He definitely did not feel like putting himself through that this morning. But on the other hand, he had been in such discomfort about it all that he had stepped out of the trees to talk to her because the alternative was too overwhelming. Perhaps sharing it would lighten the burden, even if it was sharing it with Catherine? It was probably long overdue anyway.

Attempting to look nonchalant and casual, Henry picked lightly at a dried speck of mud on the calf of one of his riding boots, flicking it off and then looking out over the lake with feigned calmness.

"Richard, actually."

By the way his wife tensed her hold on her knees, however slightly, he knew he had caught her by surprise. His fingers examined a rough patch on the rock they were sitting on, near his foot. After a moment of silence between them, he let out a short, humourless chuckle.

"It's funny… Killing the man hasn't made him go away." Henry looked up suddenly, his eyes meeting Catherine's as she glanced at him briefly, almost nervously, Henry thought. Perhaps she wondered what he would say next? He decided to continue, as she had remained silent.

"In my dreams, he's with you. Well, I'm with you, to start with, and then it's Richard. And I… I watch. I don't want to, but I can't do anything about it."

Henry paused, feeling as though he had said too much. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable. Catherine seemed unsure how to respond to such a revelation. She was silent for a moment and then spoke up softly.

"He went away years ago, Henry."

"No," Henry's voice was heavy, but not bitter. "No. He has been here every moment of every day and night." He looked up at his wife, whose eyebrows crinkled in confusion at his words. "I may not have known it until recently, but he won your heart. You can send the man away for years on end, I can even take his life, but as long as your heart beats in you - " Henry paused, reaching his hand out tentatively towards Catherine's chest, stopping short and retracting it, " – he can never be away. Ever. I can't compete with that."

"It's not a competition…" Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic in tone.

"Isn't it." His response was more of a statement than a question. "I understand why, Catherine, really I do. I know I am partly to blame. I've betrayed your trust as well."

Catherine dipped her head abruptly, her chin to her knees. She closed her eyes for a moment, and sighed deeply before opening them again. All at once she seemed less guarded, less cold, to Henry. But the subtle change brought about that unhappy weight that she had seemed to carry these last few days, as though relaxing her guard allowed it to show through. Although it gave him a surge of hope, realizing that she had chosen to loosen her grip in his presence on the mask he knew she wore, even if it was just for a moment, it made Henry feel uncomfortable. With her guard down a little, he could see that she was in pain, and he was unsure of how to handle it. After a few moments of silence, Henry spoke again.

"Did you love him?" He held his breath, training his eyes on the lake before them. He could barely get the question out, but he just had to know – to know if the Catherine of his dream was speaking the truth. How he hoped she would speak the truth to him now.

"Yes."

He let out his breath, deflating completely. How he wished she had not spoken the truth to him just now. But there it was. Out in the open, no doubts remaining. He wanted to turn his stinging feelings on his wife, to release the tension that had built up by accusing, blaming, berating. But for once, for every angry question that arose in his mind against his wife, the same question rebounded back – the accusing finger pointing at himself. He was no better. He had inflicted this same pain on Catherine, and not just once, not just with one woman, as she had with Richard. Anything he said to her now to express his hurt and his bitterness over the betrayal he felt, she could easily turn back to him, as she had that day in the throne room before he had had his guards take her away on Richard's heels. The last thing she had said in their heated argument was in relation to his hurt feelings over the news – _"I know how that feels."_ – adding guilt to the sting he already felt.

"Why?"

"He loved me." Coppery curls caressed the side of her face in the gentle breeze, as Catherine turned slightly away from her husband, dipping her head to one side as she reached out to trace the leather edges of her book, next to her on the rock.

"As simple as that?!" The resentment and pain that welled up in Henry's gut at her uncomplicated answer spilled out into biting sarcasm. "I loved you too, for all it got me in return! Apparently just _loving you_ doesn't guarantee your affection, Catherine!"

His wife made no movement, but the sudden volume of her walls snapping back into place could have been a thunderclap had it been translated into sound.

"Well, since I am not able to read your thoughts, and there was no evidence of such feelings in your actions, I was unaware that there were _affections_ to be returned, husband!"

"I showed you affection! I was loving towards you before it became obvious that you had no such feelings for me!"

Catherine stood suddenly, impassioned by her anger. " _Loving?!_ Once, perhaps! You showed me more than you think, Henry. You showed me my worth. You showed me how much you loved and valued me, when you chose to spend your nights in the arms of another instead of mine. Your love was so clear to me as I watched you enjoy hurting me with your mistress in your lap, in front of all French Court! And who could possibly have questioned your commitment to me as you paraded the women you chose over me, time and time again, year after year, letting the gossip run riot without putting a stop to it. That's what you showed me. That's what I was worth to you." She drew a shaky breath. "I don't think you even know what loving someone looks like, Henry."

Looking down at her hands, her temper cooling, she picked at her cuticles restlessly. Henry wasn't sure whether to say anything or not. Did she have more to say? Would he send her back into a rage if he spoke any words at all? In any case, perhaps she had a point. What _was_ her definition of being loved? As if in answer, his Queen spoke again, more gently this time.

"Richard loved me not for what I could give him, but just for being myself. He loved me unconditionally. I could do no wrong in his eyes. He wanted to protect me from you."

Henry huffed scornfully, his hurt evident through his resentment. Catherine knelt down on the rock once more, and turned to look at her husband.

"I know it pains you to hear it, Henry, but you brought up the matter in the first place." She looked out at the lake, silence enveloping them for a few minutes while their feelings simmered.

Sighing, Catherine spoke with honesty in her tone, "Richard was never the great love of my life… It was not something that I sought. He – he loved me first, and then the way he treated me at such a troubled time in my life… The way he loved me and tried to take away my unhappiness, I – I just loved him for it, in the end."

She swallowed, sadness overshadowing her like a cloud. "I felt safe with him. I knew that he would never hurt me. He would always put me first. I never felt that way with anyone else…" Henry hung his head as he listened to his wife's words, their meaning striking his heart to the core. He spoke to her softly, "Do you grieve his loss? Is that what these dreams and difficulties have been about, Catherine?"

"I don't know!"

Henry snapped his eyes sideways to his wife, startled at the unexpected emotion in her voice. It had taken on that lost tone that he had heard while Charlotte comforted her in her bedchamber after her nightmare the previous day. Observing her uncomfortably, she seemed to be battling within herself. Her fists were clenched and her eyes trained furiously on the surface of the rock directly in front of her. Her breathing was short and ragged, and Henry could not tell if she was about to lash out angrily or collapse into rarely-seen tears. Either way he was not sure how to handle what she might do next. He decided to wait, to give her time to formulate what she wanted to say.

"He gave his life to protect me, Henry, I don't know if you noticed that. He loved me so much that he wouldn't even apologise to you for loving me when you told him to, even knowing that you would take his head." She lifted a shaky hand to her temple and rubbed at the tension that had formed there, closing her eyes. Henry could see that she was barely holding onto her emotions.

"You're upset because you didn't get to say thank you, or goodbye?"

"It's not that," Catherine's voice trembled, "I would have liked to – it was all so abrupt and everything happened so quickly. I understand that there is no time for niceties when a King has been betrayed…" A shaky breath. "He was faithful to me, loyal. Unto death. Not as a subject to his Queen, but as a man to the woman he loved." Her voice broke, and Henry couldn't bring himself to look at her, though he could hear her rapid breathing as she attempted to regain control. He found that his own emotions had settled and become calm as he listened to her talk. His heart softened towards her once again, despite the subject of their conversation. Something within him was relieved to hear that she loved Richard simply because he had given her the love she had needed - the love she should have received from him. It hurt, but he was glad all the same that Richard was not the great love of her life. He felt – dare he say it? – compassion towards her for her grief. His own feelings seemed to pale into insignificance, and his resentment lost its strength.

"I'm sorry you are dealing with the pain of loss, Catherine."

Henry meant it. His voice conveyed his sincerity. Something about that seemed to be a catalyst for his broken wife. Perhaps she had needed someone to say those words, never mind who they were. She caved, cradling her face in her hands and leaning forwards to rest upon her knees which she had pulled up to her chest again. Henry steeled himself against the pain that was seeing his beloved wife fall apart. He had seen it once this week, he would be stronger for her this time.

Her voice came muffled, heavy with sorrow. "There is so much loss, Henry. I don't even know how to sort it all in my head…" she wept, unable to put words to her feelings. Her husband inched closer to her on the rock with the beautiful view of the serene lake before them, sitting close to her side as she sobbed quietly.

"Tell me."

Henry listened as his wife quite uncharacteristically poured her heart out to him. She mentioned nothing of their relationship, so perhaps it was easier for her to talk of others than to talk of their marriage when she was feeling vulnerable. He could understand that. She told him parts of her recent dreams, her guilt and grief over Clarissa, and her panic when their little sons were almost murdered before her own eyes. Tears still flowing freely, she pushed them away from her face in frustration as they ran down.

"I can't seem to escape it! Every day is the same. No matter the tears I shed, the weight of it just won't leave. Every day is a battle against, against _this!_ " Catherine gestured with open palms towards her chest, expressing how frustrating she found it to be overcome by emotion without giving herself consent. "I don't understand…"

"It's just grief, my love."

Catherine startled at his unexpected words and the gentle, loving tone that he spoke them with, but she allowed him to lay his large hand on her back and rub slow, soothing circles. Unthinking, she leaned her head towards him and rested it on his broad shoulder. Hope leapt in Henry's heart at the gesture of acceptance from his wife. She was allowing him to comfort her! He shifted slightly, letting her head slip into the curve of his neck, to rest on his collar bone. Running his hand around her shoulders to cradle her more comfortingly against him, he spoke again.

"Grief doesn't have a plan. You have to go with it. It'll be alright."

Catherine sniffled a little. "It feels like it will never end. Like I'm not myself and I never will be again."

Henry smiled, loving her childlike vulnerability, and at the same time hating the anguish she was going through, and his part in it all.

"I promise you're not going mad, Catherine." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry that I have caused you pain. I'm sorry that beheading Richard has caused you grief. I mean that."

Catherine turned her head to look up at her husband. "I believe you do," she said, her teary eyes wide with surprise.

"I'll never be sorry for killing him."

Catherine gave a sigh. "I know," she said tiredly, "and I do understand. I never should have betrayed you. I shouldn't have allowed myself to stoop to that level." Her eyes lifted to his briefly, full of meaning in the hurt and bitterness that accompanied her words. Henry shifted uncomfortably, but his wife's gaze fluttered and then she leaned back into him.

They sat together on the rock for another half hour at least, husband and wife, apart but side-by-side for the first time in a long while, she to share, and he to comfort. Henry was glad of the opportunity to be there for Catherine in a time of need, as he had felt so wretched the day before when he had been unable to do anything for her despite longing to. He loved her. He really did. Everything seemed to make more sense when he was focused on loving Catherine. How could he have forgotten? He was glad of her willingness to be close to him, and to share what was on her heart, but once again he felt sure that she no longer felt love for him, if she ever had. His anger towards Richard seemed less after their emotional conversation, as though somehow he had released some of his own pain and tension over the matter in the process. Still, he felt a pang of jealousy that Richard held her love. Even if it wasn't the greatest love in the world, it was still love. He wondered if it would ever be possible for Catherine to love him again the way she had loved Richard. The man had shown her love in ways that Henry didn't seem capable. Perhaps he could work on that.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** _I'm so sorry it has been so long since I update this story! I began this chapter in October, and then Megan's father died, and I couldn't bear to write any more about grief for Catherine knowing that Megan was grieving. Maybe I'm crazy, but I just couldn't stand to visualize it, so I took a break from writing this. Then my laptop died with my story on it, and ugh it has taken until NYE to be fixed and my files restored! But they are back, and so am I! Thank you for your patience and for the encouraging reviews! Happy New Year to you all!_

 _/-/-/-/_

Chapter 11

Riding side-by-side towards the castle at a gentle pace, the King and Queen of France were, unusually, somewhat at ease in each other's company. They had cleared the air considerably with their emotional conversation at the lakeside, each softening a little towards the other. Catherine had shared more of her heart than she had ever intended to. She'd felt too exhausted to hide it any longer, especially out in the neutral setting where she had come with her mask off, not expecting to have any company. She had been so unguarded when Henry came upon her, his questions so probing and his words so gentle, that she had come undone when she least expected it. Catherine pondered over their morning together. Normally she would be panicked at having been so exposed before her husband, but aside from a slight feeling of unease, she felt surprisingly balanced. Perhaps it had been a good thing, to share her heart with Henry? She shivered unconsciously, her heart reminding her of the countless times that he had betrayed her trust and hurt her. Opening up to Henry always meant pain. To trust and love was foolishness – she had learnt that lesson the hard way many times. And yet, here she was again, opening up her heart.

Catherine decided that even if it would bring her pain, perhaps the benefit would outweigh the risk? She had so needed to talk to someone about the anguish bound up inside her. She stole a glance at her husband, sitting tall and handsome on his steed, his gaze fixed on the path ahead of them. He had shown her such kindness, which was unusual, and it reminded her of their younger years together. Once upon a time, he was kind, always. She had often wondered if only his kindness would return, that everything else that had fallen in the way would matter less and less until it finally disappeared, and left them with only love for each other again. It had seemed like foolish thinking, the wistful longings of a young thing with heartache, so she had pushed the thoughts away each time they came to her. She learned to do so with quick efficiency as the years went by, giving herself less time to feel the pain that came with them.

As they emerged from the forest into the open land which spread before the castle grounds themselves, a rider could be seen galloping towards them at quite a pace. He had evidently come from the castle. The King and Queen halted their horses as he approached, confusion and concern etching their features. As the horse stopped in front of them, the guard who had ridden out to them spoke breathlessly,

"Majesties! I have been sent to inform you that the young princes have gone missing! The Dauphin himself sent me to find you, and he asks that you return immediately to assist in the search."

Panic clutched at Catherine's heart. No, no, no! Not again! This couldn't be happening! Why had she ever left the castle that morning?! If only she had been there!

"When did they disappear?" Her voice was coldly authoritative, but it had to be, for appearance's sake, if not to steady her own nerves and remind herself that she must stay in control. Nobody must know of her panic. It would make her seem weak, and nobody must consider Catherine de Medici to have any sort of weakness.

"I don't know, your Grace, I was simply sent to find you and to make great haste. I was not privy to the details."

Catherine shot an anxious glance at Henry, who sat straight-backed and alert. His face held his tension, his eyes dark with determination, and yet soft with concern for his sons. Meeting her gaze, he reassured her with his eyes and a slight nod of his head, telling her wordlessly that he would find their children, that everything would be alright. As the three riders set off back towards the castle, the King called over his shoulder to the guard.

"Accompany the Queen back to the castle. I want to lose no time in talking to Francis!"

"Henry! Neither do I - " The Queen's words were lost on her husband as he galloped into the distance, his powerful horse faster than the two that she and the guard were riding. Nevertheless, she spurred her own horse to gallop as fast as she could to the castle, the guard matching her pace.

/-/-/-/-/-/

"HOW?" The King's voice bellowed, echoing off the walls of the large study where Francis had been waiting for him. He paced restlessly with large strides, sweeping his hand over his brow where perspiration still lingered from the exertions of his urgent ride back to the castle just moments before.

"They were playing in the castle grounds near the woods. Just typical play – the nannies said they were playing battle games, and then they played a game of escaping from floods, or something like that. The nannies looked away to attend to Margot briefly when she fell and hurt herself. Her dress tore and it kept their attention for a few moments. When they looked back to the boys, they were gone."

Francis looked concerned. He hoped to set off to look for his little brothers himself as soon as he had briefed his parents on the situation. Their being away from the castle had delayed him in his efforts and he urgently wanted to begin searching.

Henry stopped pacing, his palm to the side of his neck tensely, while he considered their options.

"How many men are searching?"

"Three dozen within the grounds. I sent another two dozen into the woods with Bash."

Henry nodded approvingly.

"Where are the nannies now?"

"Searching in the grounds, with the others," replied the Dauphin. "They were quite distraught and I suggested they come inside, but they insisted on staying to help."

The heavy oak door opened with a crash as the Queen hurried into the room, breathless from taking the quickest route from the stables, almost at a run. Both men turned to look at the woman who meant so much to each of them in different ways, and whose heart they knew must be filled with anguish as a mother over her missing children.

Henry paused to survey her carefully, as she strode purposely towards them, shoulders squared. Her brow was creased with worry, her cheeks flushed prettily from the effort of her hasty arrival, and her hair had come almost loose from the ribbon that had bound it simply, earlier that morning at the lakeside. Henry managed to prevent himself from smiling at the sight of her, only because of the gravity of the situation with their sons. Smiling with pleasure at the sight of the beauty of his wife when she was slightly undone would not be appropriate at all. He dropped his gaze briefly instead, and cleared his throat before updating his Queen on the situation.

"Well, did anyone see any riders outside the castle grounds? A carriage?" Catherine's voice was a tone higher than normal, betraying her anxiety.

"We've sent men out to the nearest villages, Mother. So far the reports that have come in show no evidence of carriages or riders coming or going through the area this morning."

"Nobody has seen anything?! They can't just disappear! _Somebody_ must know where they are?!"

Francis glanced uneasily at his father. He felt unconfident about handling his mother in such a situation. Anxiety always brought out her most powerful side - questions must be answered, or else! No matter who was being questioned. The King read his son's expression, and with a nod of understanding, released him from the situation. "Thank you Francis. You should join the search for your brothers. Be sure to keep us apprised of any development – large or small."

As the door closed behind the Dauphin, Henry turned to his wife. He knew she must be bound up with worry over their children's disappearance, and he wasn't sure how best to help her while the search continued. Catherine was pacing the carpet in front of the heavy desk, her back to her husband, tension in her back, her hands clasped in front of her. He watched her in silence for a moment, and then spoke.

"Catherine."

She shook her head tensely, eyes averted, jaw clenched. Her pacing continued, but she remained silent.

"Catherine. Our best men are out there looking for them. I am sure they will be returned safe and sound."

Henry hoped he wouldn't be made a liar by his statement. His reassurances seemed to serve only to make his Queen more agitated. Her breathing audible and erratic now, he watched her pace as her fingers frantically pressed and released against themselves repeatedly, an aggressive twisting of her own hands to mirror the anguish she felt inside. Walking towards her, he reached out for her, touching her shoulder as she passed him. Flinching at his touch, she snatched her shoulder away from him and whirled to face him, her hands going up behind her to grasp the nape of her neck where the tension had gathered the most.

"How could this have happened, AGAIN?!" Her voice was tight with anger and restrained emotion. "What good is a castle full of guards if two little boys can disappear into thin air at the drop of a hat?!"

"I know, Catherine. They were outside in the grounds. They – "

"I DON'T CARE WHAT THE CIRCUMSTANCES WERE, HENRY!" Catherine's eyes flashed angrily at him, unleashing her fear and pain in the only way she knew how at that moment. "This is the second time in a matter of a few months! I won't have them put through such trauma repeatedly!"

"Of course, I agree with you. We will absolutely – "

"And we are talking about PRINCES here, Henry! Heirs to the throne of France! Is there nobody in this castle who can do a half-decent job of being responsible for the future Kings of France?!" Closing her eyes momentarily to shut out the nagging twinge of guilt that told her she should have been there, the Queen balled her fists, angry at everyone and everything. Henry knew his wife only too well in her current state. He tried again, more softly.

"Catherine. Everything is being done to find them. Once they are safe in the castle again, we will address security concerns."

"Why are you so calm and collected?! Do you not care at all about the welfare of our children?! This is unacceptable what has happened today!" She turned angrily, her sharp inhale betraying her as a dry sob, as she struck the desk in front of her with her clenched fist, the resounding crash punctuating her speech as she shouted again, "UNACCEPTABLE!"

Standing silently behind her, Henry watched his wife's shoulders drop their tension despite their rapid rise and fall as she tried to catch her breath. They sagged forward as she leaned over the desk, her fist still pressed in place where she had slammed it. Her free hand going to her face, she shook her head gently. Seeing his chance, Henry stepped up close behind Catherine, and embraced her protectively, one arm wrapping around her waist, and the other around her shoulders, across her collar bone in front. He was relieved when she sighed and leaned back against him, her hands grasping his strong arms gratefully.

"Henry, I can't… My darling boys… Anything could have happened. Anything."

"We'll find them," he whispered into her hair.

Catherine took a long shuddery breath.

"I can't do this again. The last time still torments me. Henry, I nearly lost them… Right before my eyes, I nearly saw them – "

Voice faltering, Catherine turned in Henry's embrace and buried her face in his chest, too numb with anxiety for tears. Feeling her hands shaking slightly as they clutched the sleeves of his shirt, Henry sought to bring her as much comfort and protection as he could, rubbing her back softly and stroking her hair. He soothed her with comforting words as he held her, feeling as though he would rather protect and love this woman than do anything else. This new warmth of feeling stirred his heart and made him feel alive; with purpose; contented inside. Where had he been all these years to miss this?!

"It will be alright, love. We'll find them. Everything will be fine."

_x_x_x_

 _AN: Hopefully I will write the next part soon! Thank you "guest" for your request for a femslash story. It definitely piques my interest to write one, but I have never written femslash before and maybe I won't do it justice?! If there is enough interest I might. I will start thinking about ideas in the meantime, and continue updating this story. I have ideas for a couple of others that I haven't started yet, too!_ _J_


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** _I looked up dates, and ages of the children for this chapter, as well as details of Louis (Henry and Catherine's fourth child who died aged 20 months), and figured out the conception month for Margot, wanting to get the historical details right on that part at least! I have no idea if 1552 really was a hot summer, I just made that part up! :) Thank you SO MUCH for the lovely reviews! I'm still pinching myself that you guys like what I write! It means so much to me to read your encouraging words. :)_

 _/-/-/-/_

Chapter 12

"You're sure?" The King of France held his wife's hand as she lifted her skirts slightly to climb the steps of the hastily summoned carriage. "You wouldn't rather stay closer to the castle in case there is news?"

Catherine sighed, pausing to look her husband in the eyes before allowing him to help her up. She saw nothing to fear, for the first time in a very long time. There seemed to be no veil of bitterness or resentment, nothing egotistical or self-serving, and his concern and love seemed genuine. She had heard it all before, of course. Perhaps it was the stress of the moment, or exhaustion? Perhaps her weakened state made her vulnerable to him, and being vulnerable prevented her from seeing clearly. Gazing into his soft expression and the gentle lines that time had worn into his skin, Catherine could feel her own anxiety pressing against her insides unbearably. And beyond that, she could see someone she loved with all her heart. Someone to lean on when things became unbearable. Someone who would not let her fall. She shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? Of course he would let her fall! He had done it time and time again, after all. Confusion threatened her already-fragile composure, and she lifted her chin, mask intact again for her own protection against such mercurial feelings.

"Henry, I shall go mad if I don't DO something, ANYTHING, towards finding my boys."

The King nodded his consent. "Then let me accompany you and your guards, and bring more guards with us. I will be as much use searching the west edge of the forest as I would be in the castle grounds or with Bash."

Catherine was grateful for his offer. She felt it a daunting task, searching the furthest parameters of the possible area that the young princes could have reached since their disappearance. She had her trusted guards with her, and she felt purposeful and useful, since nobody had yet been assigned that area. They HAD to find them. She did not even want to begin to think about the alternative. Having Henry's strength and authoritative presence felt settling and comforting to Catherine all of a sudden. She was glad of his company on the carriage ride too. Time alone, however brief, was not a good plan when fearing for the lives of those you love.

The royal couple sat opposite each other in silence as the carriage clattered along the stony road leading to the softer dirt roads skirting the forest. The guards hemmed them in, before and behind, on horseback. Catherine could not look at Henry. Her thoughts were consumed with her children. Even with the countryside flashing past the curtained opening above the carriage door, such was the speed they were travelling, she couldn't help feeling that she must peer out at all times. If she even blinked or looked away for a second, perhaps she would miss a little pair of heads, one fair and one dark, beyond this bush or that tree as they zipped by, hoping to be noticed and brought home.

But before she realized it, she had let her eyes glaze over the blurring countryside, and was staring beyond the haze of greens and browns into a vivid memory of another time – a much happier time – when she had watched those little heads, one dark and one fair, bob about playfully together.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The summer of 1552 had been an exceptionally warm one. It had been, well, a season of goodwill in their marriage. Such seasons seemed to come and go, and Catherine always hoped they would be here to stay each time they came around. Henry would be loving and take a great deal of interest in the children. They would take outings as a family. Diane would spend extended periods of time in Paris, or other locations away from French Court. It seemed to Catherine as though Henry was hers again, even if she knew it wouldn't last. They would make love, not just to produce heirs, and they would be happy, for a short time.

That summer had been the first since little Louis had died that Catherine felt enough release from her grief to take joy in the world around her again. The previous summer it was all still too fresh in her mind, and she didn't even remember the weather that season – there was only anguish and loss on her first summer without her Louis.

Henry had taken the whole family on a seaside expedition. The carriages were horribly hot with the sun beating down on them, and the horses had to stop to be watered often. But the sea breeze at the particularly beautiful and tranquil sandy shore that Henry had brought them to, made up for it entirely. They had brought a whole army of servants, guards, nannies, and even chefs! A veritable fleet of carriages had accompanied the young family on their escapade.

Catherine remembered the salty breeze lifting away the tedious hours of heat and refreshing her sweaty skin. She remembered the moment she scandalously took off her shoes and stockings at the pleading of her 7- and 5-year-old daughters, and the delicious sensation of her toes sinking into warm dry sand, soft and silky as it pressed up between them. Her children's squeals and shrieks as they jumped and splashed next to her when little waves lapped over their toes, sucking the wet sand into a smooth coiling hollow under her feet as they left again. She recalled laughter, her own, joyfully released from her lungs and shaking her shoulders, as she listened to her husband's deep ringing laughter booming over the sweet high-pitched giggles of her little ones while they dodged and ducked to avoid being caught and tickled by their father.

She remembered the way the blonde curls bounced and danced wildly on the head of 8-year-old Francis, as he leapt for joy when Henry told the children that they would be staying for a few days. She could recall his look so clearly, his grown-up teeth partially in at the front, his blue eyes shining, as he asked his father, "Shall we really live in tents, Father?! Just like you do when you go to battle?!"

Her children had been her beacon in the storm that had begun almost two years before, when little Louis had become ill and died. How she clung to their laughter, their smiles, little kisses dropped on her cheeks and forehead when they had hugged her at bedtimes, bouquets of wildflowers picked from the fields by her little girls, the adorably square-ish wooden heart that Francis had carved for her when he was seven - to make her sad heart feel better, he had whispered as he pressed it into her hand one afternoon. Charles had been just a little baby, so there had been joy in seeing him grow since, and of course little Henry had been born a year later. Their family continued to grow, and she knew she had been so blessed to have more little princes. She missed her Louis so, no matter the precious ones who came after him.

In the mornings by the sea, she would watch her children play in the sand, or at her feet while she lay back in the grasses near the large tents. All manner of treasures were brought to her for her inspection and approval, sometimes every few minutes. Shells of all shapes and sizes, flowers and grasses, tiny crabs, and once Francis caught a lizard and nearly lost it up her skirts in his enthusiasm to show it to her! Catherine was free to caress the soft sleeping cheeks of her little boys as they napped after lunch in the afternoons, just watching them at peace and soaking in her love for them. After they woke, she would watch them play together. Henry, at 11 months old, was beginning to be interested in Charles's play. A typical two-year-old, he was noisy, exuberant, and fascinating to a baby on the verge of becoming a toddler. Their little heads, one fair, one dark, could often be seen bowed together over sticks, leaves, or a pile of sand, and Catherine thought these two tiny boys quite the most precious little children she had ever laid eyes on. Sometimes she caught herself imagining Louis with them. He would have been three-and-a-half, and she was sure he would have been a wonderful big brother to them, leading their games, and making them laugh! She smiled despite the tight sadness in her throat, at the thought that the noise level would have been so much greater with Louis as part of the little trio.

In the evenings for the King and Queen, when the children were tucked up in their beds in the large, airy tents shared with their nannies, the time was theirs. Catherine had her Henry and, being so far removed from the castle and their thrones and obligations, they were able to forget about being King and Queen to some degree. They could just be Henry and Catherine, a loving family unit with their young children, and a convenient staff catering to their every need while they enjoyed some time together. It had been, Catherine reminisced, quite blissful. She had wished she could freeze time in those moments, knowing how fleeting it would be. Henry had been quite… _amorous_ , on that trip – a smile ghosted Catherine's lips as she remembered – and it was just a few weeks after their return that she learned she was pregnant with Margot.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Henry had been watching his wife intently during the carriage ride to the edge of the forest. He was concerned for the safety of his sons, but overwhelmingly he was also concerned for his Catherine. He understood why she felt the need to come out and search with everyone else – he felt the same way himself. But she had been so emotionally burdened of late, and she seemed so anxious now, the tension evident in her body as she craned her neck to scrutinize the countryside speeding past the window. He knew she was looking for Charles and little Henry, and it pained him to see her so un-Catherine-like and worried.

After a minute or so, he noticed that although she hadn't moved, her body seemed to relax. Her gaze had softened and glazed over, no longer seeing the view outside the carriage, and he wondered what she was thinking about. She was so lost in thought that Henry was able to stare openly without being concerned that he would distract her. She was so lovely, with her beautiful face and the soft wisps of red-gold curls framing it gently. They fanned back slightly in the breeze and just that detail alone made Henry's heart feel tender towards her. He longed suddenly to touch the soft skin of her cheek, but he didn't want to break the relaxed trance she had fallen into. Curiosity kept him watching her. Her eyes held unhappiness somehow, but only here and there. Actually she seemed quite contented otherwise. Henry watched her lips curl into a seductive little smirk which, along with the sparkle in her honeyed eyes, made him temporarily forget to breathe. Unable to stand the suspense a moment longer, he steadied himself with a deep breath and asked her softly, "What are you thinking about?"

Catherine startled at the sound of Henry's voice, and coming back to the present, she answered, "The time you took us to the sea that hot summer. Do you remember the little ones? And the tents we stayed in?" She smiled fondly at the memory, settling back into it again for a moment.

"I do." His voice was gentle with the contentment that the memory evoked in him.

Henry remembered well. He remembered the happy times with his wife and children on the sandy beach. He remembered watching Catherine love their children so well, with all her heart, as she always did, and he watched the children love her equally in return. For Henry, his children admired him, looked up to him, wanted to please him. But Catherine – Catherine had their hearts, just as she had his now. He shook his head at his own foolishness. He loved her then, and he loved her now. What kind of self-focused idiot had he been between those times?! Shaking off his frustration, he settled into the memories of that time by the sea.

The heat, the happy laughter of the children, the salty breeze – wading with Francis and Elizabeth in the gloriously cold water, and lifting Claude over the waves when they came. He had enjoyed every moment of those days spent with his family.

But the nights… Oh he remembered the nights. The tent that he shared with Catherine was his longed-for sanctuary, where he could have her all to himself. Henry remembered that the nights were warm and uncomfortable. He could almost still feel the breeze rippling in gently through the raised flap of the tent that faced the open water, refreshing them for sleep. He didn't remember much about sleeping though, he thought with a smile. Henry settled back in his seat, enjoying the memories. Catherine against his side on those humid nights, uncaring of the heat, just wanting to be close to him. The intoxicating smell of her, a subtle blend that he would have had commissioned to be bottled as perfume if it were possible. Fragrant hints of grass and sea salt, something floral about her hair, and the entirely enticing scent of light perspiration and sunshine.

Henry remembered it all so vividly. The soft weighted fullness of her breast in his hand, the generous curve of her hip in the other. The smooth resistance of her supple skin beneath his fingertips. The way her sighs were more exquisite to his ears than the sound of the waves breaking gently on the shore nearby. How resplendent she looked with her skin glowing pearly in the moonlight, eyes like pools of liquid gold as she poured herself out for him. He remembered her beautiful hair, fanned out around her on the rumpled silk sheets. He remembered the magnificent sight of her leaning over him, the tips of her curls brushing his chest as nothing else mattered but their movements and the way it felt to be one.

A jolt of the carriage brought him back to his senses, and he worked to compose himself. This was not the time or place for such thoughts, intoxicating though they were. He stole a glance at his Queen sitting across from him, and his heart ached for her as he saw her looking down at her hands folded in her lap, her knuckles white, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Henry chastised himself for dwelling on memories of pleasure when their current situation was so desperate, and Catherine's heart so filled with anguish.

"Catherine?" Concern softening the tone of his voice, he leaned forward, gathering her small hands into his larger ones in her lap. Looking up into her face, he waited quietly for her response. Catherine closed her eyes momentarily, the gathered tears spilling over as she did so, and she retrieved one of her hands to wipe them away quickly before she spoke.

"I – I remembered that Charles and Henry were just tiny ones on that trip to the sea. They – they were just learning to play together." She gave a watery smile, remembering again. "They were such darlings, Henry, the way their little heads bent together as they played."

Henry waited, knowing there was more. His wife gave a shaky sigh.

"And then I remembered Louis… You know, it was the first time I was able to enjoy the children properly since…" Voice fading out, Catherine dropped her gaze to their joined hands for a moment in silence.

"I wondered what it would have been like if Louis had not died. I imagined him playing with Charles and Henry – what a trio they would have been!" She chuckled, but it sounded to Henry more like a sob. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, trying to show her his love and encouragement.

"I – I felt sad at the time, missing Louis from their play… But I comforted myself thinking how fortunate we were to have two sons after him for France."

Catherine looked up suddenly at Henry, her eyes pleading and full of her fear and pain. When she spoke again, her voice sounded choking and hollow, something that broke Henry's heart.

"Now we might have none of them." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "If Charles and Henry are lost, never to return to us – Oh Henry! I don't know how I shall endure the pain of losing Louis again, twice over!"

Henry moved swiftly to sit in close by her side. His Catherine looked so broken, and he couldn't bear it. Her shoulders and chest shook in sharp jerks as she sobbed, and she did not even attempt to move her hands from her lap to wipe her tears. Letting go her hands, Henry twisted in his seat to face her, leaning towards her, his face etched with concern and sorrow for her. He brushed his fingers gently over her cheeks, smoothing her tears away. As her sobs subsided, she lifted her teary, shining eyes to his, wondering at his gentleness towards her. He kissed her then. He hadn't meant to, and if he'd had time to think about it, he would never have done it, because it seemed like poor timing. But he couldn't help himself. He wanted to kiss her pain away, to fix everything with his lips on hers.

Catherine hadn't expected Henry to kiss her. She expected to push him away, to feel angry or hurt at such an action when the boys were missing and her heart was exposed so. But his lips brushed hers with a tenderness that took her breath away. So much was conveyed in that kiss that she couldn't think straight. Brief but soft, his kiss told her he loved her, that he cared for her, that he wanted to help her to be happy again.

Breathing her in deeply, he broke the kiss, and leaned his forehead gently against hers. She didn't pull away, and he was grateful for that.

"Catherine," he whispered, "I will do everything I can to bring them back to you. I can't bear to see you in such pain."

She cupped his cheek, smiling at his genuine concern for her heart.

"Thank you, Henry."

The carriage slowed and halted. The Queen smoothed her face dry, and allowed Henry to help her down, out into the afternoon sunshine with the forest before them. Taking charge, Henry quickly organized and instructed guards, and they set off in groups to search. Nodding in the direction of the trees to their left, he gestured for Catherine's guards to start off and taking Catherine's hand in his, set off after them.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Shall I send ahead for some food to be made ready, Catherine?" Henry's voice was soft, and had a tone to it that made the Queen feel sure that he was treading carefully. Stifling tired irritation, she resisted the urge to snap back.

"No, thank you Henry."

"But you haven't eaten all day."

"I'm fine." Her eyes flicked to his for the briefest moment, and she gave him a tight smile. Henry was unconvinced, but he understood, and fell silent.

Sighing deeply, Catherine sat a little straighter in the carriage, her expression unreadable. Her fingers worked tensely, hidden in the folds of her skirts in her lap, picking her cuticles - a tiny form of release for her pain and tension that nobody could see, when she didn't want her anguish revealed.

Hours of searching in the forest, and no sign of the princes. Anxiety coiled in her empty stomach and speared the tired muscles around her shoulders. Catherine's mind switched relentlessly between hopelessness, and desperate denial of that hopelessness. They must be lost forever! _They could not possibly be lost forever, because the pain would be too great! She must not give up hope!_ What hope? What hope could there be of their survival? What more could possibly be done to find them? _But giving up would be unbearable. There MUST be hope._

Most of the guards had remained in the forest to deepen the search. The King had insisted on escorting his wife back to the castle, as she was becoming fatigued with the effort after several hours, and without having had food for some time. It had bothered Henry greatly, because he knew how Catherine loved her food. To see her go without willingly, to have no appetite… He had been anxious and distracted about it during the search, and Catherine had finally admitted to feeling exhausted, and agreed to return to the castle. Even now though, she could not think of food. Her very soul felt empty, drained and hollow. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, and restrained emotion kept her stomach tight and her throat constricted. She did not feel like eating. She only wanted her boys back.

As they neared the outskirts of the castle grounds, Catherine noticed with a feeling of dread that the sun was now quite low in the sky. She couldn't bear to think of her little boys alone in the dark, away from their home, their family, all their familiar things. She refused to believe that they were dead! She hoped that whoever had taken them was treating them kindly at least. Furiously blinking back tears, frustrated with her emotions rising unbidden to the surface yet again, Catherine couldn't help herself. Her mind ran over all the happy times she had seen Charles and Henry share together. How she hoped they would soon be returned and experience them again! She saw them so clearly in her mind's eye: giggly hide-and-seek in the castle on rainy afternoons; little shining eyes, eager for a story at bedtime when she arrived to tuck them into bed; looking so sweet and serious as they learned the steps of traditional dances with the instructor who had taught all of her children to dance through the years.

Angrily flicking a wayward tear off her cheek with her fingernail, Catherine sat forward determinedly, staring unseeing out of the window. She was unwilling to shut down in despair, and she blocked out everything around her, allowing her memories to forge on.

Happy times around the castle grounds. Snowball fights with Francis and Claude. Charles falling in the lake when little Henry had barreled into him at full speed after running down the grassy slope and being unable to stop. Family picnics in the grassy meadows on warm afternoons, and the way her little boys had entertained them with pretend jousting contests on just the perfect sticks collected by the edge of the woods for that very purpose. Hiding behind tree trunks and leaping out at each other in the woods, these same woods that they were passing through right now. Pretending to be explorers in the treehouse that Henry and Francis had built for them in the tall oak tree further out in the woods.

Catherine jerked out of her thoughts with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide, hands trembling. Henry, who had been watching her with emotion tugging at his own heart, startled at her sudden movement, and his hand shot out to touch her knee.

"Catherine! What…?!"

She turned to face him, eyes filled with hope and tears as she clutched his hand on her knee.

"Henry! The treehouse! Did anyone think to - " The King lunged towards the window in his urgency.

"STOP THE CARRIAGE!"

Within an instant, Catherine was out of the carriage with Henry, and running – _running_ – through the trees towards the part of the woods where the treehouse was. Guards ran behind them, and she clutched at her skirts, lifting them a little to give her more room to run freely. Her heart pounded and her breath came ragged and fast, but she ran on, forgetting her fatigue and her empty stomach. Desperate hope and love energized her and urged her on. Surely this area had already been searched? Guards had already reported back to them that the entire grounds had been searched with no sign of the princes. But they would not have thought of the treehouse. Maybe… just maybe, there was a chance.

As they came within sight of the large oak tree in the distance standing strong and proud amongst the smaller trees around it, Catherine couldn't help but call out for her boys as she ran, raspy and breathy though her voice was. She knew she was still too far away, but her mother's instinct was crying out to her that her children were near, that they were well and she would have them in her arms just as soon as she could get to them. Hearing her efforts, Henry's stronger voice picked up her call, and she was grateful.

"CHARLES! HENRY!"

Their feet shushed over old leaves and cracked over twigs and bark as they ran, more laboriously now, uphill towards the tree. Catherine could hear the clanking of the guards' armour as they drew in close behind.

They were so much nearer now. Surely their voices had been heard? Please let them be there! Please-please, please-please - Catherine's silent pleas kept time in her mind with her feet as they thudded relentlessly through the dirt and leaves. She began to fear. Fear that her children were not there. Fear of the pain that would come with the crash after the hope and the effort if they were not. Suddenly breathless and exhausted, she stopped, gasping, watching her husband close the gap between her and the tree with the ladder nailed into the trunk, and the wooden boards of the treehouse just about visible through the leaves above. Above the harsh sound of her own pulse and heavy breathing, she heard his deep voice ring out again, "HENRY! CHARLES!"

And then time stood still. A small head of blonde hair appeared over the wooden boards, and she heard his voice – "Father?" Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the little shriek of joy that escaped her at the sight, and she began to run again. Dropping softly onto the soil as they jumped from the bottom of the ladder, two little boys ran to her, and she sank to her knees in the leaves and dirt, arms wide to embrace them, laughing and crying all at once.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Sitting between their beds in the quietness, Catherine savoured the moment, drinking in the sight of her little boys who were sleeping peacefully now after their long day. The sound of their breathing, the soft contours of their faces in the candlelight, the way their eyelashes curved gently against their cheeks. Relief and gratitude washed over her, the same way it had that afternoon when she saw them running towards her, only this time with less intensity. She had been so terrified for them, her fear so overwhelming, and yet now, despite the shudder than ran through her when she thought of it, she could almost laugh about it. Almost. She shook her head fondly and smiled down at Charles's sleeping face, as she remembered his apologetic explanation earlier that day.

"Mother, please don't cry! We didn't mean to worry you! We… we were playing floods, and I – I remembered that I was taught once about floods in far-off lands, and how the people would go to higher ground to be safe." He had looked at his feet and fiddled with the edge of his cloak for a moment, before continuing, "Henry and I remembered the treehouse – the highest place we could go outside of the castle, Mother, and we went!"

Little Henry had nodded proudly, adding, "We beat the floods, Mama!" Catherine stroked back the blonde hair softly from his forehead as he slept, at the memory.

"And then we played Search and Capture! We were already high up in a hiding place, and - "

"It was SO exciting!" her younger son had interrupted.

"Yes, and after a while we saw some guards further off in the woods and we pretended they were really searching for us to capture us and put us in the TOWER!" Charles's shining eyes and gap-toothed smile had been so endearing to Catherine, despite her anguish only moments before. "We lay on the floor in our treehouse and stayed quiet."

"Reeeeally qui-et…" added little Henry.

"Only we were so quiet that we must have got sleepy, because we fell asleep. We only woke up a little bit before we heard Father calling us, and we had been talking about going back to see if it was time to eat yet." Charles had looked up at his mother's radiant smile and tear-stained cheeks. "I'm sorry Mother. I didn't realise we would worry you so."

Catherine had hugged them close and kissed their heads, and reassured them that all was well that ended well, and they had all climbed into the carriage and gone back to the castle for supper. She had eaten at last, but she really couldn't manage as much as she usually would. Her stomach had had an exhausting day with all the anxiety. She hadn't left their sides since, and had insisted on accompanying them along with their nannies as they readied themselves for bed. She had read to them, and sang to them softly as they drifted off to sleep, and now she lingered still, unable to make herself get up and leave them. She felt unwilling to remove herself from the distraction of her precious boys, and face the vacuum of emotional exhaustion that awaited her in her empty chambers. Henry had been asking since supper to accompany her with their sons, but Catherine had wanted her space, and asked him to leave her alone with them this evening. He had been gracious enough and not questioned her further, and she was grateful.

The door opened quietly, and one of the nannies entered, dropping a curtsey before the Queen as she realised she was still in the room with her children. Catherine smiled, glad to see that someone would be near her boys as they slept. She stood and leaned over to kiss each of her sons, before bidding the nanny goodnight, and leaving the room.

The hallways seemed more grey and cold than they used to, and exhaustion seeped into her bones. The very skin of her face felt too heavy, and her corset seemed too restrictive. As she walked to her chambers, doing her best to present a graceful and regal appearance despite her exhaustion, Catherine began to feel overwhelmed with uneasiness. She felt fragile and vulnerable. She knew it was just fatigue, with all the worry and stress of the day, now that it was all over. All the same, she wished so much that she hadn't rejected Henry's offer of company this evening. Just the thought of opening her heart to him made the unsettling vulnerable feeling worse, but she could certainly use a companion to soothe her lingering anxiety, which she knew would be worse if she was alone. She would just have to hope that her ladies would ready her for bed as quickly as possible, and that she would fall asleep immediately so that there would be no time for raw feelings and fears in the dark.

As she neared the guards at the doors to her chambers, Catherine felt grateful for their presence that night. She strode past them and closed the door behind her. Cupping the back of her tired neck in her hand, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against her fingers, trying to ease the strain in her muscles. Turning to her vanity to begin preparing herself for bed, she startled when she saw her husband standing from the window seat where he had evidently been sitting to await her to return. At her questioning gaze, Henry crossed the room to her with large strides before she had time to form a sentence and took her hands in his.

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I know you said you wanted to be left alone this evening, but… I wanted to check that you were alright before going to bed." His dark brown eyes were soft with concern, and she wished he would always be this gentle when he looked at her.

"I'm fine, Henry. Just tired."

"And the boys? Are they settled?"

"Yes," Catherine dropped her gaze for a moment, smiling fondly at the thought of their sons, "They're fast asleep. I've asked the nanny to stay in their room just for tonight. It will… give me peace of mind."

"And _do_ you have peace of mind?"

Catherine looked up into Henry's eyes, wondering why he needed to know, and whether she felt safe trusting him again with her feelings. He had been so kind and understanding of her emotional state of late. Quite the unexpected surprise. She pulled back from him a little, her gaze shifting away, removing her hands from his gentle hold and turning to place them instead on the back of the chair at her vanity.

"Not really." She scratched absently at the wood grain of the chair with her fingernail.

"I thought not." His voice was soft and his tone caring as he stepped in close beside her, laying his warm hand over hers on the wood of the chair. She felt the fingers of his other hand brush her cheek in the silence, before they traced her jawbone down beneath her chin, lifting it up gently so that her gaze could meet his. As their eyes locked, Catherine stifled the gasp that almost escaped her throat. In the firelight and candlelight, her husband's touch and that look in his eyes, it was almost intoxicating. She was caught by surprise at the strength of her sudden rush of feelings for him – feelings that were always there, but which she worked so hard to push beneath the surface every day, because they were inconvenient when they weren't reciprocated, and only served to cause her pain.

He gazed into her, and she was almost lost in him, almost completely given over to that familiar pull of the darkness of his eyes, and the heat that his touch gave to her skin. Then she remembered the pain he was able to cause her, and felt afraid and overwhelmed by the way he was making her feel. She dropped her gaze abruptly and pulled away from him, placing distance between them by sitting in her chair and lifting off her crown.

"I'm tired Henry. I need to get ready for bed." Catherine kept her voice level, and as disinterested as possible. "Where are my ladies?"

"I dismissed them." Catherine swung round to face him, shocked at her husband's admission. "I – I thought that perhaps I could help you instead?" Henry's gaze faltered, and he suddenly seemed less confident in the face of her hard expression that he couldn't read. "I hoped… that I could be a comfort to you after such a day."

Catherine raised her eyebrows, her expression changing to one of incredulous suspicion, almost questioning him with sarcasm in her eyes as to what exactly he meant by the offer. Recognising the unspoken question, Henry responded quickly.

"Only to help you prepare for bed, Catherine. I had no other intentions! It has been hard to see you so worried today about the boys. I suppose I am reassuring myself by making sure you are taken care of."

His wife didn't move, or look away from him. The doubt remained in her eyes, but her expression softened somewhat.

"It _has_ been a difficult day…" Henry pressed.

Fixing him with a slightly distrustful look, Catherine finally turned back around in the chair, and allowed her husband to take care of her. Henry removed the pins from her hair, and brushed his fingers through the soft curls as they were released, smiling quietly to himself as he enjoyed the activity. He had missed her hair between his fingers, smooth as silk, and bright as the sunset. Trying not to linger as much as he longed to, in case he gave his Queen the wrong impression, he moved to place the pins in the container she kept on her vanity.

Catherine removed her earrings and necklace, glancing at her husband's reflection in the mirror. It was all so awkward, and yet she wished… she wished it wasn't. She missed his attentiveness, and even craved it, but she had to guard her heart. She wouldn't be hurt again, not when there had been enough hurt to deal with recently.

She stood and moved away from the vanity, hesitating for a moment with a mixture of hope and anxiety held in her eyes as she looked at Henry, before turning her back to him and pulling her hair over one shoulder. Henry moved towards her, breathlessly unsure of what he had seen in his wife's eyes. He could tell she was concerned – perhaps she felt that he would hurt her again? But had he also seen… a glimmer of something else? Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Longing? Curiosity? No, that wasn't it. Surely she didn't harbor any feelings for him?! He was quite sure she had none!

Reaching out, he undid the ties of her dress, and carefully unlaced her down the back. He was forgetting how to breathe; a haze separating him from his good intentions. The silence, the way the room was lit, the way her hair had felt between his fingers… and her skin at her shoulders and the nape of her neck. So very beautiful. Henry grazed his fingers across the skin of her exposed back, pretending to reach for the lace he had dropped, and felt Catherine shiver slightly at his touch. Her dress was unlaced now, but he didn't move, and neither did she. He wished he knew what was going through her mind. He wished he understood her better, and that he knew how to fix the mess he had made, and make her happy again.

All that Henry could hear was the soft sound of their breathing, and the logs settling and crackling gently in the fireplace. A curling lock of hair slipped over Catherine's shoulder and down her back. Henry stepped in close to his wife, entranced by everything about her. He reached out and languidly swept the curl back over her shoulder with his fingers. He could not help himself. Even though he knew he should not push the boundaries, he leaned down and brushed his lips against the soft nape of her neck, longing to taste her skin. He heard her breathe in sharply, and for a moment she relaxed against him, but then her shoulders stiffened and she stepped away from him, clutching her dress to her.

"Henry…" Catherine's voice came gently, but with warning in her tone.

"I'm – I'm sorry," he whispered back, "But you're so beautiful. I had forgotten. I didn't mean - "

"I can't do this tonight." Catherine let out a long sigh. "I'm exhausted. Today has just been overwhelming." She turned to face him fully, and with a gentle tone she added, "I think you should go, Henry." Smiling at his downcast expression, an unfamiliar feeling of endearment flooding her heart towards him. "I appreciate your concern," she said softly, "But really, I can finish preparing for bed myself now."

Henry nodded, acquiescing, although not wanting to leave her at all.

"Perhaps I could come and see you in the morning? See if you've slept alright? We could go and see the boys together once you are ready."

"That would be… nice." Surprised and still somewhat hesitant, Catherine smiled at her husband, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Until tomorrow then." He stepped forward and kissed her cheek tenderly, and she let herself breathe him in before he moved away and left her in a whirlwind of exhaustion and confusing feelings.

Stumbling out of her dress and into her nightgown, she put out the candles without thinking about it, and fell into bed, tired out. Still, she lingered for a moment before succumbing to sleep. It was nice to have Henry's loving attention again. It was too much to think about the mercurial aspect of such attentions, so she chose to ignore the warning of her heart and recklessly enjoyed the way it had felt to have his lips brush her skin, to feel his breath warm her neck and send shivers down her spine. Her eyes sliding shut, a contented little smile graced her lips as she dozed off to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN:** _So sorry it has been so long since I updated this story! I hit a major writer's block, wanting to make the next chapter more… towards an M rating than previous chapters, and I wasn't sure how to approach it, so I lost my mojo there for a while. Here it is at last though!_

 _/-/-/-/_

Chapter Fourteen

She was running. Heels clicking and scuffing on the stone floor in her panic as she fled. She gasped breathlessly and fought to stay in control of her fears. She had to get away!

The hallways were empty. Where had everybody gone?! Catherine flung a hasty glance over her shoulder as she sped towards the end of the hallway. An ominous rumbling came from the far end of the hallway, and panic clutched at her throat as the walls of the castle fell away at frightening speed in her direction. Her home cascading to the ground before her very eyes, chasing her, terrorizing her, determined to catch her up and devour her.

In a panic, Catherine hopped and stumbled as she freed herself of her shoes, wanting to be able to run more freely. Everything was hindering her escape! Turning into another hallway, again empty of people, she frantically discarded her long robe, slinging it to the ground haphazardly without a care. Breaking into a sprint, she ran for her life. The walls behind her caved in and crumbled away, and she was almost out of time. She had to reach her chambers, she just HAD to! Maybe if she could just shut it all out….

Another corner turned, and there were the doors to her chambers, dead ahead. Stepping quickly out of her skirts and clawing at the restrictive corset that suffocated her, she thought nothing of her nakedness as she tore the corset from her body and flung it to the wall without looking back, tearing down the corridor towards her sanctuary in just her shift, free of her constricting layers at last. Her heart thundering in her ears, and her breath coming harsh and ragged, she raced the advancing destruction, only seconds ahead of it now as it closed in behind her. The last few yards lay between Catherine and her chambers, and she squeezed her eyes shut with her effort as she sprinted, the roaring sound of the castle's collapse almost too loud for her to bear. Terror forced her panicked gasps into a frightened wail, until she hit the centre of her doors with her full weight, crashing through them and into –

Quiet.

Darkness.

Softness.

Where was she? It was too dark to see anything, but she knew she was safe. She was sitting in softness, and she let her shoulders sag, propping herself forwards on her arms to try to catch her breath and calm her body down.

All of a sudden, a large pair of warm hands grasped her from behind at her hips. Knowing the familiar touch well, Catherine sighed with relief at the realization that her husband was with her, waiting for her, ready to protect her. His hands kneaded and caressed her gently, and then using her hips as leverage to pull himself flush with her back, Henry pulled her back into his bare chest to let her recline against him. His arms wrapped fully around her torso, enveloping her in a cocoon of protective warmth, as he leaned them back against the softness surrounding them. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, her breathing steady at last, and her heartrate calm.

"Take comfort in me, Catherine," he growled lustfully, sending shivers through her, as he spoke close enough for his lips to touch the edge of her ear. "I want you to…" he added in a hungry whisper. His hands smoothed her shift over her skin firmly, up and over her hips, and down again to squeeze the softness of her inner thighs through the thin fabric. Catherine tossed her head back against his shoulder, losing all sense of who she was and what she believed. She wanted nothing, ever again, but her husband. His touch was maddening – torturous and glorious, and she couldn't get enough of it.

Henry gathered the hem of her shift in his hands at her knees, and swept the garment up her body and over her head in one swift motion from behind her. Catherine couldn't see him, but she could _feel_ him. There were no layers of clothing between them. All her senses were heightened. It was as though time stood still, and nothing else existed. Her body burned with desire, and her pulse and breathing ran rapid again. She waited, hardly able to bear the pause, for what her husband would do next.

Pulling her back into his body once again, Henry caressed his wife, holding her to his chest tenderly, like a treasure he had sworn to protect. He ran his fingers softly over her body, soothing her arms and shoulders, and tracing the curve of her sides. Picking up a small hand, Henry stroked the smooth skin and pearly nails, before raising it to his mouth behind Catherine's head, and kissing each of her fingers.

"I love how you feel in the dark…" came his hoarse whisper in her ear. His low hum of pleasure as his hands sought her out sent shivers down her spine. Catherine longed to turn in his embrace, to bury her face in his chest and enjoy him in a more intimate position, but she stilled as his hands came to rest on her breasts. Moaning as he expertly set her body on fire with his ministrations, she wondered how she could ever have wanted anything on earth as much as this moment. His talented hands moved down her body, his left holding her hip steady while his right teased her with excruciating slowness, inching sensually further down her belly. She breathed his name, surprised that she felt more breathless now than when she had been running from danger only moments earlier.

When his fingers found her, Catherine let out a husky groan. She hadn't meant to, but every fibre of her being was inflamed with wanton desire. She didn't feel like herself any more – everything that had ever mattered to her simply fell away, and this moment, this feeling, the pleasure building from what seemed to be the core of her very being – it was everything. Writhing under his gentle touch, she could not control herself, and for the first time that she could remember, she was not afraid of losing control. It felt so good, and she felt so wild and free.

She did not know anything of the passing of time there in the dark. Nothing existed but exquisite sensation and the pleasure-filled sounds they made. Without sight, everything felt intensely magnified, and their shared passion nearly overwhelmed her senses entirely. Her appetite for him was suddenly voracious; a craving that she had always had, but which she had largely managed to suppress.

Their heated bodies joined now, Catherine sat atop her husband as she had been before, her back to him, caring nothing for the reckless abandon with which she moved and moaned freely. There was something delicious about the way Henry tugged gently on her hair as she rode him, pulling her head back so that his lips could reach her neck. She felt desperate for him, arching her back trying to make contact with his chest behind her. "Henry…" she groaned, "Oh Henry…" How she had missed him, and how good and how right it felt to be one with him again.

Moving faster, his name came increasingly to her lips, and he answered her back, breathing her name so passionately that it made her gasp to hear it. It was as though she was racing for her life again, only this time not racing something dangerous that she had to outrun to survive – this time she was racing to keep up with herself, and there was something so erotic and alluring about trying to keep up with the speed of their bodies surging towards unparalleled bliss.

Faster, harder, deeper, his hands caressing her breasts as she gasped and moaned, her mouth wide and her head back as she neared the brink. Henry sucked and kissed up her neck, and moaned his appreciation and admiration breathlessly into her ear, "Catherine, oh my love, you are so gorgeous! I want you… I want you…" He gave a deep groan of pleasure, "There's no-one like you, Catherine..." Squeezing her more firmly with his hands as he neared his release, he praised her again, "You're perfect… so beautiful… oh… downright delicious!" and he gave a short chuckle before giving her a playful bite on her shoulder.

Oh those words! Those sounds! The delightful shock of his teeth against her skin! She wanted him too, even more than she had him now. She loved his body, the solid heat of his muscles as she slid against them, the rapturous way her body felt with him inside her, his incomparable touch – she was blinded by her lust. She could barely hear her own voice in the far distance over the rushing of her pulse in her ears, carnal sounds that she didn't know she could make, increasing in intensity as pleasure began to devour her from the inside out. She threw back her head and cried out, "HEN-RY!"

Ears still ringing in the silence from her cry, Catherine clutched at her damp sheets as she gasped for breath and looked about her, completely disorientated, trying to steady herself and get her bearings. The room was light, the sun having risen recently, and the door opened and closed quickly, her lady Charlotte hastening to her bedside with concern.

"Another nightmare, your Grace?" She sat on the edge of the bed and raised a cloth to wipe the sweat from the Queen's face, but Catherine brushed it away.

"I'm quite alright Charlotte. There's no need for concern."

Charlotte looked unconvinced, surveying her Queen's flushed face bathed in perspiration, unwilling to meet the young lady's questioning gaze. She wasn't herself, fidgeting and restless, almost irritably so. Perhaps she had not slept well and was tired.

"Would you like some refreshments, your Majesty? I could arrange to bring your breakfast now if you are ready to prepare for the day?"

"I – I think – would you draw me a bath, Charlotte?" Catherine squirmed and pushed her covers away from her, longing to fan herself to cool off a bit, but not wanting to draw attention to herself by doing so. Her lady stood and nodded respectfully. "Yes, your Majesty."

Grateful for the solitude as Charlotte left her bedchamber to prepare the bath she was very much in need of, Catherine sank back into the pillows and fanned her face with her hand. What on earth was all that about?! Where had that dream come from? Smirking with satisfaction as she remembered the details, she pulled herself away from her thoughts to keep her breathing in check. She had been flustered enough with Charlotte – she mustn't seem ruffled when the girl came back.

It must have been the way she had felt as she had drifted off to sleep last night, after Henry had left her chambers. Well, that was a FAR preferable dream to the usual nightmares she'd been having, that much was certain! Shaking out a shudder that ran across her shoulders, Catherine climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe, carefully smoothing the velvety fabric with her hands to help settle her ragged nerves. A knock sounded at the door to her chambers, and Catherine was dismayed to see Henry entering the room. She had quite forgotten that he had planned to come to her chambers before they went to see the boys together! She stood straight and lifted her chin with practiced elegance.

"Good morning, Henry."

"Good morning!" her husband approached her with confident strides and a genuine smile that made her slightly weak at the knees, her recovery from her amorous night not quite complete. "Did you sleep well?"

Catherine nodded with feigned indifference. "Yes, thank you Henry. I – I'm afraid I'm not quite ready for the day yet. Charlotte is drawing me a bath."

Henry regarded his wife with sudden curiosity. "Are you feeling alright, Catherine?" His wife stepped back falteringly, her eyes flitting from his gaze. Now he really was curious.

"Fine, fine. It was a… warm night, and I… got too warm." She cleared her throat nervously and straightened the coverlet on her bed a little.

"You do look flushed." Henry stepped closer to Catherine and reached up, brushing her face with his fingers tenderly. He saw her tighten her composure, stifling a sharp breath in, as she kept her eyes trained on the bed. She looked to Henry to be feeling most uncomfortable about something. "Catherine, you're sweating! Are you unwell?!"

"I'm fine, Henry!" She stepped back, swatting lightly at his hand rather irritably. Henry didn't for one moment believe her.

"What are you keeping from me?"

To Catherine's great relief, the door opened and Charlotte entered, announcing to the Queen that her bath was ready.

"Will there be anything else, your Majesty? If you need any further relief - "

Henry interrupted, concern lacing his tone, "Did the Queen wake from another dream?"

"Yes, your - "

"NO!"

The simultaneous replies from his Queen and her lady stunned the King. He watched Catherine hold her lady's gaze for a moment with the raised eyebrows that conveyed to the girl the two possible paths for her future, and then dropping a quick curtsey, she left the room with silent haste. He turned to Catherine, who met his gaze and then looked away. He was both confused and very much intrigued.

"Catherine, what is going on? You know I'm insatiable when it comes to a mystery!" he added cheekily.

Catherine cleared her throat again. Why did he have to use a word like insatiable at this moment in time?!

"Nothing at all." She breezed past him with what she hoped was an air of innocence.

"Then why - "

"NO, Henry. I – I am simply too hot, er, warm, although perfectly well, and – I'm going to take my bath now." She took a steadying breath and then glanced back at her perplexed husband over her shoulder as she headed for the door, "I am having breakfast brought up shortly, if you haven't eaten…?

The King smiled, and sat himself comfortably on her bed. "Delicious!" he called out to her retreating form.

Closing her eyes for a second at his comment, Catherine mentally shook herself, before continuing on her way to bathe.


End file.
